


Sort of Dealing With Dragons AU

by abutterflyobsession



Category: Dealing with Dragons, Enchanted Forest Chronicles - Patricia Wrede, Strange Magic (2015), Strange Magic - Fandom, strange magic movie - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, dealing with dragons au, strange magic au, strange magic dealing with dragons au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-07-18 08:57:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 35,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16115096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abutterflyobsession/pseuds/abutterflyobsession
Summary: The Princess Dawn has been kidnapped by a dragon! Her sister, Princess Marianne, goes to not just save her, but take Dawn's place as a captive princess. After all, almost anything is better than marrying a prince you loathe.





	1. In Which Bog Tries to Please His Mother and Ends Up Making a Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> original prompt by tough-girl9: Prompt: Bog just wants to live out his life peacefully in the back of his cave, but his mother won't shut up about him kidnapping his first princess because That's What Dragons Do.
> 
> This slipped almost seamlessly into a Dealing With Dragons AU

****The problem was that Bog didn’t know what to actually _do_ with a princess once he’d kidnapped it.

Even though his mother had been practically chewing his ears off about how he needed to get a princess like all Proper Dragons did and that the neighbors were Looking Down on him, Bog couldn’t recall if she’d ever got around to mentioning what the actual function of a princess was.

For example, was a princess supposed to huddle in the middle of your cave and make miserable wails that set your fangs on edge? Because if it was, Bog couldn’t understand why such importance was placed on something so irritating. All the tiny blue and yellow and pink thing did was whimper and squeak whenever he dared point his muzzle at it. He was crammed into a corner with his tail tucked around him just to keep far enough away so he wouldn’t set the princess off again. 

Maybe he had caught a faulty one? It had just been wandering outside the castle and had been easily snatched. Perhaps he should have looked for one in a tower. Those were supposed to be of particularly high quality. What was the policy on un-kidnapping princesses? Could he, perhaps, just, quietly put her back before his mother saw her?

And now there was a second princess, of all things, in his cave.

“Listen,” Bog said, looking cross-eyed at the sword being leveled at his snout, “I wouldn’t advise you following through on this course of action.”

“Where’s my sister you scaly-backed lizard?!”

“I know there’s this idea that you can slay a dragon with just a sword but really it doesn’t often work out like–”

The point of the tiny sliver of metal sank into the soft gums between his fangs, but not before chipping off a piece of his tooth. He yelped in a most undignified way and reared up, clutching his mouth. Was this thing a princess too? It was nothing like the other one! The other one was all soft and helpless and sort of distressingly cute. But this one …! This one made him angry.

“I said _listen_!” Bog brought his front foot down on her, knocking away the sword and pinning her to the ground in the cage of his claws. He huffed out a mouthful of smoke and sparks, his bleeding mouth twinging. “I didn’t even _want_ you sister–ow!”

Something had stabbed the delicate webbing between his toes and he yanked his foot away, leaving the fierce princess free. It was holding two tiny swords–daggers? Yes, daggers–and looking murderous.

Bog knew perfectly well that the princess was too small to do him any real harm, but … that look on her face made his stomach do an uneasy flip.

“Listen– _LISTEN_!”

Smoke rolled out with Bog’s roar of displeasure. His face and feet were stinging with tiny wounds and his patience was worn down to threads. The fierce princess was panting and completely disheveled from being batted back and forth across the floor. Her pale skin had turned dark with dirt and her shining cap of was dull and dusty.

Bog crouched down on his belly and pushed tilted his head so he could level his eye at her.

“I don’t want your sister! Take her back for all I care! The only reason I took her was I was badgered into it!”

“You’re … not going to eat her?”

“What?! No! That’d be a waste of a princess.”

“Then why did you want a princess in the first place?”

“Um …” Bog was stumped for an answer. He rattled his memories for a bit and scraped up a meager fact or two, “Decorative? Mostly? Keep the cave tidy, organize the library, and–and–and make cherries jubilee.”

The last item Bog had pulled out at random. It had only occurred to him because cherries jubilee was his favorite treat and making it seemed the most useful thing any princess could do.

“You have a library?”

The disbelief in the fierce princess’s voice made Bog feel offended. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“You like cherries jubilee? Seriously?”

“ _Why_ _shouldn’t I_?”

“No reason, I suppose, it’s just that I can make …” the princess trailed off and her face assumed a thoughtful expression that made Bog worry.

“You weren’t going to hurt Dawn?”

“Of course not!”

“Yes, you were.”

“I wasn’t!”

The princess glared. “Yes, you _were_! Which is why I have to agree to take Dawn’s place so that you’ll let her go free, meaning that I can’t go back to the castle and marry Roland!”

“W-what?”


	2. In Which Marianne Makes Plans Without Bog's Consent

“Since that’s settled–”

“Nothing is settled!”

Bog certainly wasn’t settled. He was distinctly unsettled. He clawed at the back of his neck where it always itched from the shedding scales he could never quite reach.

“Up we go,” the fierce princess pulled the distressingly sweet princess to her feet. “You’re going home with Sunny–oh, yeah, Sunny!”

“Here?” 

A voice spoke up from somewhere up near the ceiling of the cave. Bog shifted back and swiveled his head to find the newest intruder. “That had better not be a knight.”

“Only in his heart,” the fierce princess said, “So don’t eat him. Come on down, Sunny!”

A thread-like rope rolled down the wall and a figure–even smaller than the princesses, impossibly enough–bounced and slid down it. It kept casting nervous looks at Bog. Bog sneered and snorted out a puff of smoke. The intruder began to descend even faster.

“We’re not using the pepper bomb, then? Because I liked that plan. Set it off and run instead of you trying to duel with a _dragon_!”

“Sunny, what you should be focusing on right now is that you have just heroically rescued the Princess Dawn and are therefore entitled to ask for her hand.”

“I–I _what_?” The smallest intruder squeaked.

“He did?” the distressed princess asked, brightening considerably.

“Yup. You rescued Dawn, it was spectacular. I had been following you and after you escaped I bargained to take Dawn’s place so the dragon wouldn’t chase after you.”

“B-but–”

“Marianne!” the distressed princess sounded even more distressed, “you can’t just throw your life away for me!”

“Too late. I’m trapped. Gotta stay here and make cherries jubilee. Anyway, don’t you want to marry Sunny?”

“Of course! But–”

“Really?” the smallest intruder asked in a tone of amazement.

“If you want to, that is, but, yes!” the princess kissed the smallest intruder on the head, “and we will discuss this all after we _all_ get out of here!”

“I wish you all would.” Bog grumbled.

“No!” the fierce princess said, “I’m you’re princess and that’s final! Now you two get out of here!”

“ _Please_.” Bog swept at them with the back of his foot. “ _Get. Out.”  
_

He blew some more smoke and snapped his teeth a few times. Through the smoke he could vaguely see them running off. _Finally_. He raised his foot to scratch the back of his neck again, but stopped halfway when someone said:

“Whoa! Careful!”

The fierce princess was clinging to the back of Bog’s foot.


	3. In Which A Bargain is Struck and Bog Introduces Himself

The fierce princess sneezed.

She stopped brushing the dirt off her clothes and waved away the dust that had been kicked up. “Sorry, as I was saying–”

“Goodbye?” Bog asked sarcastically.

“–it’s like this: I’m a princess–”

“Did I _ask_?”

“–and as a princess there are certain things that Are Done and Not Done.”

Bog thought of his mother’s nagging and snorted.

“And apparently marrying some idiotic, self-centered, vain _hairpiece_ is what I, as a princess, must do. I’ve got to give up my entire life and tie myself to him just because that is, I’m told, what princesses Do.”

“… hairpiece?” Bog asked, but the princess was already hurtling on.

“And what’s _Not_ Done is anything that I consider remotely interesting. Learning Latin is too taxing on my brain, cooking is inappropriate for my station, sword fighting, well, my parents didn’t even have words for it when they found out–”

“How much Latin?” Bog asked, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

“Enough to scandalize.”

“No, really, how much?”

“My pronunciation is rusty, but I can read it fluently.”

The library _was_ getting to be a mess, Bog recalled. He never had time to sit down and do a proper catalog, sadly. There was also the treasure room. It was in disarray as well and many of the more harmful magic trinkets were mixed in with the regular goblets and things. The only way to tell the difference was by reading the Latin inscriptions. Last time someone fooled around in there they got turned into a crow for three days.

Rumbling absently, Bog lowered his head and cocked an eye at the princess again. She looked much more practical than the other had. Instead of a shimmering dress she wore dull colored pants and tunic, her sword belted at her side. She didn’t seem likely to cry.

Bog’s grumbling turned into growling when an itch crawled up his neck again. He scratched fiercely and gave his head a shake. It didn’t help much and he breathed out a few frustrated sparks.

“Would you like help with that?” the princess asked.

Bog stopped mid-scratch and looked at her. “So you can slip your sword into the back of my neck?”

“No! If you were dead then Roland could just come and take me back. Look here,” the princess unbuckled her sword belt and laid it on the floor. She paused, then produced several daggers from about her person and discarded them too. She stretched out her arms and turned in place, “See? Unarmed.”

Bog gave her a long look. She stayed where she was, apparently at ease even with his teeth so close. He smelled sweat. But maybe that was from all her running about. He reached out his claws and dragged the weapons well out of her reach. Then he laid his head down on the floor.

“Fine. Try.”

The princess hesitated, taking half a step one way, then the other. Finally she came to some sort of decision and jogged around to the side of his neck. He felt her tugging at her scales to see which were loose and he lashed his tail and rumbled.

“Quit complaining!” The princess seized a scale and pulled it off.

“Don’t try and pluck me bare, then!”

“Don’t grump.” 

The princess pulled a few more scales off. Bog twitched, wanting to scratch. The princess quickly scratched at the spot she had been working on. Bog’s tail twitched at the relief from itching. He found himself rumbling in contentment.

“I’m Princess Marianne, by the way.” 

There was a cheerful note in her voice and Bog suspected she was laughing at him. He ignored it for the moment because he was actually starting to feel relaxed.

“Bog,” he rumbled in reply, “King of the dragons.”

* * *

 

The princess Marianne found her thoughts slamming to a halt, whipping around, and taking a second look at what the dragon had just said.

“King”. He had said “King of the dragons”.

Marianne’s thoughts leaped back into action in order to consider the possible ramifications of her new benefactor being king of the dragons. It was common knowledge that there was a king of the dragons, of course, but her kingdom was a bit out of the way and never entered into circles where the politics of dragons would be important. This meant that news of the king taking on a princess would not likely travel back home. It also meant that Marianne might have to tread with more care when it came to dealing with this particular dragon.

“Pardon me,” Marianne adopted a polite, neutral tone, “What was it you just said?”

The dragon named Bog sighed. From Marianne’s point of view this resulted in a great deal of movement. His sides rose and fell, shifting the dull patterns of green and brown that shadowed over his scales. The larger plates on his head almost seemed to twitch, and his tail knocked against the floor.

“My name.” he replied with a short puff of smoky breath. It smelled like a pile of damp leaves thrown on a campfire.

“Yes, I see. Would you repeat it, please, if you don’t mind?”

Bog turned his head around. Marianne backed up a few steps. He leveled an eye at her again with a suspicious squint. The eye was very large, very blue, and very unsettling. Marianne wasn’t used to seeing eyes in such detail. She could almost swear she could hear the workings of the iris expanding and contracting around the pupil.

“Bog.” He said. “King. Of. The. Dragons.”

“Thank you. That’s what I thought you said.”

The king sneered. It was impressive, as sneers went. It was crooked, lifting only one side of his mouth to show his chipped teeth. There was blood between a couple of gray fangs and Marianne nervously remembered that she had stabbed him there earlier.

“You doubt my claim?” the king asked.

“No, no! Not at all … your majesty.”

The sneer dropped and fell into a frown. The plates on his head flattened and Marianne realized they had just been raised, slightly, like the crest of a bird.

“You’re suddenly polite.” The king’s words sounded like a complaint.

Marianne straighted her spine and threw back her shoulders, looking up to meet the king’s eye. “I suppose if I was rude you’d dislike that as well?”

Bog laughed. It was soft for a dragon, but Marianne felt the rumbling of it through the floor. “For a moment I was wondering if the fierce princess was no more.”

“You’d be the only one to miss her.” Marianne spoke without thinking.

Bog blinked slowly. “Interesting. Are you not a–”

“Proper princess?”

“I was going to say _usual_.”

“No. I’m a very improper princess who cooks and fences and volunteers to be a dragon’s princess.”

“Perhaps that’s better than a proper princess. I don’t know what I’d do with a proper princess. Follow me, I’ll show you the kitchen.”

Marianne seized her sword and daggers, darting out of the way of Bog’s tail, then jogging after him. This might turn out to be a good plan after all. That is, unless Bog was taking her to the kitchen to prepare her as the main course for his dinner.


	4. Marianne Makes Herself at Home and Refuses to Go Home

“I said I’m _busy_!”

Princess Marianne of Linderwold had done her best to remain calm and civil in a difficult situation. She had even put down the frying pan she had been cleaning instead of gripping it by the handle like a weapon. Not all problems could be solved by shouting and hitting. In this case, however, Marianne would have gladly wielded the frying pan to leave a dent in her visitor’s helmet.

“Forget that, my lady!” the knight said, “if you come with me now I won’t have to–ah, you won’t risk being harmed in my confrontation with the beast!”

The knight had shown up during the late morning, shouting challenges at the back door. Marianne had been obliged to leave off scouring the inside of the stove and tramp her way through the winding passages to find the door. She hadn’t even known there was a back door. Her would-be rescuer was waiting for her and the best that could be said of him was that he was not Roland.

Marianne struggled to gather her manners again. She pushed the knight’s armored hand until his sword was pointed at the dusty ground. “Now, sir, if you would please explain the reason for your visit?”

The knight shoved the visor of his helmet up and looked at Marianne with great confusion. No doubt he was taking in the fact that the princess’s hair was wrapped up in a kerchief and most of the rest of her covered by a dirty apron. While Marianne had brought her best two crowns with her, she had left them on her dresser while she cleaned.

“I’m–I’m here to rescue you!”

“How kind. However, I have no need of your services. I’m sorry you made the trip up here for nothing.”

“You don’t need …? Uh, I don’t think … you don’t actually … your father is offering half the kingdom for your safe return, as is usual in these cases, and I don’t think you … well, it was assumed that you would be … agreeable?”

“Half the kingdom? What a ridiculous–! Never mind. Sir, I’ve struck a deal with the dragon and am quite content to keep up my end of the agreement. It’s really best that you go home and pass that news along.”

“Um. I am here … I should face the foul–”

“Bog isn’t at home. He’s gone to borrow a crepe pan for me.”

“What? Why?”

“Because we haven’t got one. Now, if you’ll excuse me–”

Marianne turned to take her leave.

The knight grabbed her arm. “Wait!”

Marianne swung around and slammed the knight’s visor down hard enough to rattle his skull. He let go and she walked back inside while he was sorting himself out.

Her etiquette instructor would have had a fit if he had seen that performance. But that knight wouldn’t listen and she didn’t have all day to waste persuading him to give it up. Perhaps he’s spread the rumor that the princess of Linderwold was more trouble than she was worth and they’d leave her alone. Which would be good, because she had a great deal to do and no time for nuisances.

Marianne headed down the tunnels that ran through the mountain, thinking vaguely kitchen-y thoughts. The tunnels were of a magical nature. They had a consistent layout, more or less, but could be convinced to readjust themselves as necessary. It was very handy whenever Marianne got lost but had also been very confusing at first.

Originally Marianne had come in by way of a cave entrance in a boggy area and she had thought the crudely dug out space inside was the extent of the dragon’s property. It turned out it wasn’t even part of Bog’s main living space. In fact, Marianne was fairly sure it was some sort of room for brooding in. A genuine boudoir. Bog either sulked in it or sloshed into the bog to sulk in the water like an offended moss-covered log.

By the time Marianne could hear Bog announcing his return by growling in annoyance under his breath, she had gotten the kitchen to a decent state, washed up, and changed into a dress for the evening. Her closet was magical and most obliging, providing her both with sensible work clothing and gowns for the princess relaxing at home.

A clang informed Marianne that Bog had gotten the crepe pan and had placed it in the kitchen. She twisted her damp hair up and put on her second-best crown. Sometimes Bog brought other dragons back with him and as a princess it was Marianne’s job to look the part. She buckled on the sword she had found in the treasure room that was more decoration than weapon, but it was necessary for looking the part of the proper but unusual princess. That’s what Marianne thought, anyway.

Hurrying toward the study to see about dinner arrangements, Marianne hoped Bog wasn’t too grouchy today. It was hard to air smoke out of a cave.


	5. Bog Sulks and Marianne Cheers Him Up

By all logic Bog should not have been able to fit into the kitchen. 

The room was cozy and intended for human-sized occupants, even if most of the cookware and such were scaled to make dragon-sized servings. Yet thanks to whatever stretching magic that had been imbued in the walls he fit with room to spare.

He sat hunched over, resting his chin on the table and halving Marianne’s workspace. Occasionally he would sigh and blow flour into the air.

“Does his majesty need something or does his majesty simply wish to prevent me from making cake?” Marianne asked, peeved by the excessive number of flour clouds turning the kitchen pale. Bog had been in a sulk for days and it was grating on her nerves.

Bog snapped his teeth closed and began to grind them together. The sound of this was highly unpleasant and shook the table. Marianne endured ten minutes of it before she picked up an egg. She gently tapped the egg on the ridge of Bog’s snout, cracked it open, and let the egg drop right between his eyes.

Bog stared at her. His eyes were huge and his scaly crest was raised in shock. Marianne stared back, an eyebrow raised to say, and what are you going to do about it?

Without breaking eye contact, Bog reached out and flipped the bowl of batter over. It splattered all down the front of Marianne’s apron. There were wet specks of it dotting her flour-dusted face and hair. It was Bog’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

Marianne resisted the impulse to pick up a pan and smack the king of the dragon across the snout like he were a misbehaving cat. She folded her arms over her battered apron. “And to top this off the drain is clogged! How am I going to clean up this mess when I can’t even wash dishes.”

Bog blinked and sputtered. The egg slid off his face.

He laughed.

It shook the table again and the air was thicker with flour than ever. He wheezed and the addition of his smoke made it nearly impossible to see. “You look ridiculous!” He chortled.

“Then I’m in good company, _your majesty_.”

This made Bog laugh harder. “It’s–it’s like you don’t even know how small you are.”

“I’ll have you know that when I’m not standing next to over-grown swamp dragons I am considered quite tall. More tall than is proper for a princess.”

“Is this what they mean by ‘a handful’?”

“I’m glad you’re cheering up but I’d rather it wasn’t at my expense.” Marianne grabbed one of the spikes on Bog’s head and swung herself up on the table to sit next to him. Or his head, anyway. “Who blundered this time, to put you in such a mood?”

“The queen,” Bog rolled his eyes.

“The–wait, not–are you–are you _married_?”

“What do you–? No! Of course not! Ugh, I forgot, you humans make things so _complicated_. ‘Queen’ is just the name of a job. No relation to the king, it’s a completely different job. Rather dull, actually. Anyway, he–”

“He?!”

“Yes?”

“Queens can be male?”

Bog huffed. “Of course! Gender has no bearing on the title. Male or female I’d still be king, same goes for Thang, the queen. It’s simple, really.”

“Uh huh. Sure. So the queen pulled your tail and made you cross and my kitchen has to suffer for it.”

Bog had the grace to look sheepish. “Yes, sorry about that. But you started it!”

“ _You_ started it when you brought your sulks in here!”

“I don’t sulk!”

“You’re a master of it. Don’t argue with me. Instead, tell me all your woes. Then I will tell you mine, which are mostly knight-shaped, and after that you will help me clean this up.”

“I don’t have to clean anything up. I’m the king of the dragons. You’re just a princess. It’s your job to clean up after me.”

Marianne shot him a look as sharp as a knife.

Bog held up a front foot, “That was a joke.”

“Ugh.” Marianne elbowed the side of Bog’s head. He tilted his head and nudged her back. She almost fell off the table. “Rude.”

“You started it.”

“Even in this fog I can find the knives, your majesty.”

“Ah. I can fix that drain for you, if you like.”

“How kind.”


	6. Marianne Has An Idea and Some Visitors

“I really ought to do something about this.”

A stray spark during one of Bog’s grumping sessions had set a tapestry on fire. Fortunately it had not been an attractive wall hanging and Marianne was glad of an excuse to replace it. But it started Marianne thinking about how flammable she herself was and how rogue sparks landed where they pleased, regardless of Bog’s intentions.

Killing two birds with one stone, Marianne tasked herself with sorting out the library. At best she would find a handy spell or two for fireproofing, if her Latin did not fail her. At worst she would have a few shelves of organized books.

The work was slow and tedious. Many of the books did not have the titles stamped on the spine or cover and Marianne had to work out a system of bookmarks to tell them apart. As well, more than a few books were in Greek, which Marianne was rather bad with. 

One surprising, and amusing, thing was that there were a great many cheap novels. The sensational kind that went for excitement over practicality, and contained an excessive amount of over-poetical romance. The sort of thing Marianne had liked when she was younger, and that Dawn still liked. Marianne could not help but notice that these books were worn from multiple readings. Her chuckling got her through another stack of books while she ignored a growing headache.

A knock on a door–oddly enough not the back door–interrupted Marianne’s work. She stood up, stretching her arms and back on her way to find which particular door was being knocked on.

The one she found was within the caves and did not lead outside. Behind it Marianne discovered three princesses.

“Hello,” one of them said formally, “I am the Princess Gloriana of Braumwell. This is Princess Journa of Peven, and this is Princess Adeline of Boncoeur. We have come to console you on the misfortune of your kidnapping.”

These three were very proper princesses indeed. Gloriana had skin, pale as milk, deep red lips, and dark brown eyes that shone like polished river stones. A fine gold circlet sat on her dark golden hair and her dress was crimson red, edged with golden embroider. Journa was of a clear, dark brown complexion with full lips and glittering black eyes. Her black hair was woven into dozens of braids and the braids were woven around a silver circlet. Her dress was of bright, bold, beautiful blue and white patterns. Finally, Adeline, with rich, wheat-colored hair, hazel eyes, a circlet of pearls, and a dress of rich green velvet.

Marianne was still enveloped in her work apron.

“How thoughtful of you,” Marianne said with great politeness, “But I fortunately have no need of consolation. I am quite happy with my position. However, if you would like a cup of tea I would be more than glad to have you step into the kitchen for a visit.”

Which was not true. The three princesses were eying her with disbelief and Marianne was sure that the next half hour or so was going to try her patience dearly.

* * *

The princesses were silly. Marianne had feared as much.

It wasn’t that they were stupid. Princesses received excellent educations, even if they were not very scholarly ones. A princess had to develop a good memory for faces, names, and ranks, a general sense of geography, an understanding of political workings and how to turn things to the advantage of your kingdom. No one had every been able to explain to Marianne why these things weren’t just as taxing on the brain as Latin.

No, the princesses were not stupid. They just worked very hard at seeming stupid. They talked of pretty jewelry, of the handsome princes that would rescue them, and bemoaned their captive state. Marianne had to admit to herself that their finery was stunning. She liked such things herself. In the right time and place. An informal visit in the kitchen was _not_ the right time and place. In such a setting Marianne felt it would be entirely proper to relax and talk freely, instead of acting like they were all attending a formal high tea among nobility of the court. Insisting on this playacting was, well, silly.

Marianne tried to be patient. Their upbringing wasn’t their fault. Marianne herself had bought into the silliness herself, once upon a time.

“You seem to keep yourself … busy.” Gloriana remarked over a cup of blackberry tea. Dismay lurked in her eyes, and disapproval. Marianne was not playing her assigned role of the tragic captive princess. This was not how things were Done.

“I manage to occupy my time.” Marianne replied. She put on her best princess-in-polite-company smile.

“It is admirable that you try to occupy yourself and keep from thinking of the sad situation you have fallen into. It’s difficult, we know. We _understand_. The days are endless, waiting for your prince to rescue you.”

“I’ve found that rather a bother, truthfully,” Marianne passed around a plate of cookies, “I’ve had to send away three knights and two princes since I came here.”

“Send … send them away?” Gloriana’s voice cracked, “That is, you mean, your dragon captor drove them off, yes?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t bother Bog with that sort of matter.”

Gloriana and Journa exchanged baffled looks. Adeline gazed shyly down into her tea.

The rest of the visit was just as stiff and awkward as Marianne anticipated. She tried not to be too cheerful when the other princesses took their leave and headed back to their respective cruel dragon captors.

After they had gone Marianne munched on a cookie with unseemly vigor and wiped the crumbs off her face with the back of her hand, just to be a little spiteful.

A soft tapping at the door alerted Marianne that one of the princesses had come back. It was Adeline.

“Hello, sorry to intrude again.” She said, twisting her hands together.

“Did you forget something?” Marianne asked with utmost courtesy.

“Ah, I … I told Gloriana and Journa that I did, but … I wanted to come back and talk to you alone. The others are very kind but they … they make me nervous. Everything must be just so. You seem more practical.”

For the first time since the princesses had arrived to visit Marianne smiled. Not a polite mask of friendliness donned for the occasion. Just a smile.

“Thank you. I try to be. I’m not a proper princess and don’t want to be, but I wouldn’t mind being a practical princess.”

Adeline relaxed and smiled too. She looked around the kitchen with interest. Her hands slid into her hair and she began to braid it back without seeming to realize she was doing it. “Do you cook for the king?”

“Yes, mostly desserts. Bog prefers to catch his own dinner.”

“Roderick too.”

Adeline had mentioned the name of her dragon before but it only just clicked into place in Marianne’s mind where she had heard that name before. Mostly in growling, seething tones while Bog grumped around the caves muttering to himself about his interfering mother and his insufferable cousin: Roderick.

Roderick had gained possession of a princess–Adeline–some time previously and Bog’s mother had been rubbing Bog’s nose in it. She had said something along the lines of, “Even your cousin has a princess! You ought to get one too, it’s only right. You have to live up to your station!” At least, this is what Marianne surmised. Bog paraphrased the conversations when relating them to Marianne, as well as punctuating them with growling.

“I was just working in the library,” Marianne told Adeline while the two of them cleaned up the tea things, “I’ve been cleaning and trying to see if I can find a spell for fireproofing princesses. All kinds, proper or practical.”

“What a clever idea! I never thought of it, though some of the dragons that visit do make me nervous. You know how to do magic?”

“I know Latin and I had a handful of lessons from the court magician before my parents found out. I can probably manage it. If I ever find any.”

“I’d offer to help, but I don’t know any Latin, I’m afraid.”

Marianne grinned. “Not many princesses do.”

Adeline did not smile. She fumbled with the cup she had been drying and it fell back into the soapy water. “No, I’m sure they don’t.”

“If I find anything I’ll share it with you. How are you bearing up under your heavy fate as a captive of a monstrous dragon?”

“Oh, terribly well, I’m sorry to say. Roderick is a troublemaker but very nice to me. He got me these pearls and all sorts of things so that I look like … I-I’m from a poor kingdom, you see. I haven’t ever really looked like a princess.”

“The pearls are lovely. My sister would love them. She has similar coloring to you and they would suit her.”

“Is it true that you traded places with your sister after she was kidnapped?”

“More or less. That’s how it worked out in the end. If I’d realized it was an option I might have volunteered for the position of dragon’s princess even without my sister being kidnapped. How did this dark doom fall on you?”

“It’s–it’s a boring story. I was sort of pushed into it. And no one is offering half a kingdom for my rescue so it’s just as well I like it here with Roderick.”

“I haven’t seen him yet. Bog loathes him. Bog loathes most things, though. How bad is Roderick, really?”

“I don’t know where to start. He gets himself into so much trouble.”

“Would you like to help me dust shelves and tell me about it? I like it here too but I’ve only had Bog to talk to since I got here.”

“I would love to! You have to tell me all about these knights and princes that are plaguing you.”

Marianne groaned. “They’re driving me mad. Soon I’m going to be as grumpy as Bog and trudge around billowing smoke.”

Thinking of the knights made Marianne uneasy. They themselves were nothing more than a nuisance. It was just that every time one came trumpeting challenges at the door Marianne was afraid Roland had finally shown up.

“Gloriana and Journa are wild with envy,” Adeline said, removing her pearl circlet and tucking it carefully in her pocket. “Gloriana has only had two knights come to rescue her and she’s been here so much longer than you have! And Journa’s only had one prince and he didn’t do very well against her dragon.”

“Maybe I should send mine down the road to them.” Marianne reflected.

Adeline laughed, covering her smile with a hand, “Oh! Oh my! Gloriana getting second-hand suitors! She’d be furious!”


	7. Marianne and Adeline Go Looking For Flower and Find Wizards

“Do you know where I can get hen’s teeth?”

“Not really. Those are scarce.”

Marianne spoke with her eyes still on the notes she laid on the table, absently hefting a bucket-sized serving of coffee onto the banquet table.

Even in her distraction she felt a little proud of herself. It had taken some practice, adjusting to moving around huge containers of coffee and wine without spilling or sloshing. Her upper arm strength was getting to be impressive and if her closet wasn’t magic she would have had to let out the sleeves on all her dresses.

Marianne took a regular coffee cup off her cart, took up her notes, and sat down on the edge of the table near Bog. They were in one of the shared public banquet halls, just having finished a morning meeting with some officials about wizards being seen in the area.

“And you don’t like wizards because …?” Marianne asked, sipping her coffee.

“Because they’re bloodsucking leeches. The staffs they carry around are made to absorb any nearby magic and store it. Seeing as we,” Bog tapped his chest, “are made with a great deal of magic mixed into us we find being around wizards–”

“Draining?”

“I will ignore that remark.”

“Draining the life out of you just by existing … sounds like a prince I know.”

“Would that be the one you were going to be made to marry? He must have been incredibly unpleasant, for you to trade him for me.”

Bog looked interested. Marianne had remained vague about Roland and the exact circumstances that led her to her current position as dragon’s princess. As usual she shrugged off the question with a light-hearted joke.

“Bog, he was bad enough that I would have traded him for Roderick.”

Bog paused with his coffee halfway to his mouth. “… sweet mercy.”

Marianne grinned. She hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Roderick in person, but Adeline’s stories and Bog’s grumblings were very telling.

“You, though?” said Marianne, “I definitely traded up. What luck that it was you that decided to terrorize my sister.”

Bog rolled his eyes and slurped his coffee. “Is Roderick’s princess going to be hanging about here all the time? It’s beginning to smell more like it’s Roderick’s cave than mine.”

“I’d visit her but she hasn’t got a library full of spell books. But, you’re in luck, we’re found a fireproof spell that looks promising. Now we’ve just got to gather up the ingredients.”

“Hence the hen’s teeth?”

“Hence the hen’s teeth.” Marianne nodded.

“You can rummage around in the treasure room, there are an assortment of jars that contain who knows what. Rummage with care. I take no responsibility if you are turned into a newt."

“Adeline and I thought we’d start with gathering the more usual plants. I’ll let you know how it goes. By the way, how many died during this meeting.”

Bog made a discontented noise in the back of his throat.

“That many? Must have been a bad day. If you don’t need anything else I’m going out to pick flowers.”

“Don’t go to far. And, Marianne?”

“Yes?” She said, looking up from setting the coffee things back on the cart.

“You know–you know I would never hurt you?”

Marianne wasn’t sure why seeing Bog’s pensive expression made her feel a little happy. Maybe it was because he was always making a fuss about being violent and bad-tempered and he was setting those aside to reassure her.

Marianne went back and gave Bog’s snout a pat, flashed him a smile, and went on her way.

* * *

“How badly would it hurt your opinion of me if I picked some flowers?”

Marianne laughed at Adeline’s sheepish expression. “I’ll only baulk if there’s not enough room in the baskets for the spell ingredients. Otherwise, suit your fancy.”

“It would be nice to have some in the cave. I’ve already spotted some that I could make potpourri and sachets. You know, to put in the linen chests and keep them fresh.”

“That’s a good idea. Sometimes it gets a little smoggy in the cave. I’ve never made any myself before.”

“They’re easy,” Adeline crouched down, tucking her skirt out of the way, “as long as you don’t want something fancy like roses. Mostly I use wildflowers. The sachets can be medicinal too, if you’re using herbs.”

Marianne let Adeline lead the way. Adeline knew wildflowers and herbs. Marianne had mainly interacted only with domesticated plant life that had been strictly trained up lattices or trimmed into perfect squares. She did have some knowledge of herbs from books, but there was a difference between neat little specimens inked on a page and the rolling, climbing, creeping reality of nature.

“Who did you have to bully or bribe to get them to teach you all this?” Marianne tugged her sturdy leather gloves into place and reached up to pull a branch down so Adeline could gather something off the vines tangled over it. “I could never get hold of a gardener–they’d always vanish into the shrubbery when they saw me coming, lest they spoil the illusion that rose bushes grew in perfectly round spheres.”

“I–my mother.” Adeline said, “S-she was one of those beautiful goose girls, you see. My father was riding by and was taken by her beauty and he carried her off to be his princess and then his queen.”

Marianne nodded. Such matches were not unusual. “That must have introduced a dollop of common sense into the royal bloodline. Did she like it, your mother? Being carried off and decked in finery? I’ve always wondered if those beautiful goose girls and cowherds miss their birds and cows and being able to walk barefoot without anyone fainting in shock.”

“I don’t know. She died when I was still small. Any luck with the hen’s teeth?”

“Not a speck. Bog tracked down some of the more exotic ingredients for me and looked so pleased with himself that I didn’t want to ask him how he got them. If you feel like risking life and sanity you can help me sort through the jars in the treasury.”

The princesses wandered their way up and down the mountain, armed with scissors and knives, filling their baskets with ingredients for spells and sachets, enjoying themselves very much indeed. Marianne found Bog’s company most agreeable, but it was nice to chat with someone who saw things from your own point of view, which was much lower than a dragon’s. 

Adeline was sweet and good-natured, reminding Marianne a little bit of Dawn. Her company eased the little spot of homesickness in Marianne’s heart. It was hard being apart from Dawn. Until Roland they had … well, anyway, they used to talk to each other about everything. Marianne had written several letters and was waiting for another knight or prince to show up so she could ask them to deliver them for her. Possibly Dawn would be able to send a reply in the same way.

In search of one or two plants that flourished in more rocky places the princesses squeezed their way between some boulders further up the mountain. They were rewarded with the discovery of a little valley among the rocks, thriving with interesting plants.

An unexpected find was that of three robed men standing on the other side of the green space. They turned toward the princesses and Marianne saw they all carried staffs, wore long beards, and had identical faces. The ground around them was yellow and looked sickly next to the rich life all around.

Adeline gasped and darted back to stand a little behind Marianne. She looked terrified.

“Wizards.” she whispered.


	8. Adeline's Feelings are Distressed and Roderick's Feathers are Ruffled

Wizards weren’t allowed allowed on the mountain.

That is, Bog had explained to Marianne, so long as they had their staffs with them they weren’t allowed on the mountain. Since wizards were reluctant to relinquish their main source of power it practically came to the same thing as forbidding wizards entirely.

In direct defiance of the prohibition there were three wizards, all carrying staffs, standing on the side of the mountain, and looking  angry in the manner of people who had been caught in the act of breaking the rules and were about to blast their way out of trouble if they had to.

It was insulting how their tension melted away to almost nothing once they got a better look at Marianne and Adeline. Marianne could almost hear them thinking, “Oh, just some silly princesses, nothing to worry about.” It made her wish she’d brought her sword.

Adeline was pale and shaking. Marianne supposed that might be a reasonable reaction. They’d just caught a trio of wizards in a place they shouldn’t be and maybe they might try to make sure the witnesses didn’t talk about it. Which meant running away wasn’t an option–as if it ever could be for Marianne. That left … playing to expectations.

“Oh!” Marianne forced her eyes to go wide. She grabbed Adeline that looked like she was clinging to her for comfort, but actually it pushed Adeline further away from the wizards. “Oh, no! You’re not bandits, are you?”

The wizards looked at her. They looked at themselves. They looked at their robes, staffs, and beards. They looked back at Marianne.

“No …?”

Marianne wrinkled her face, just enough to look puzzled without hurting her looks, while she pretended to think. “Are you peddlers?”

“No, we–”

“Lonely, kindly hermits?”

“No! We are–”

“Huntsmen?”

“We are wizards!”

Marianne forced her eyes open wider than ever at this explosive revelation. In a fretful, childish voice she objected, “But wizards aren’t allowed on the mountain!”

“Not at all, not at all,” one of the wizard said, so patronizing that Marianne would have liked to pull his beard. “We have been invited here as guests. Who do you young ladies belong to?”

If she was quick Marianne could give all three of their beards a sharp tug before they would be able to stop her. But that sort of instant gratification was the sort of thing that led to being turned into a toad.

“I am Princess Marianne of Linderwold,” Marianne said with a gracious smile, “I am the princess of Bog, king of the dragons.”

The rapid exchange of worried glances among the wizards caused Marianne to wonder if she would have been better off telling an outright lie. That was tricky business, though, deceiving people of magical natures. The lie could catch up to you in an unpleasant way.

Marianne hurried on with the introductions, “This is Princess Adeline, princess of the dragon Roderick.”

Another exchange of looks among the wizards. They looked even more surprised, but less worried than they had at Marianne’s introduction. A silent conversation of facial expressions went on for long enough that Marianne took the opportunity to look around the little valley and see if she could spot anything important.

There were several yellow patches in the grass aside from the ones under the wizards’ feet, and those had grown wider since the princess’s had arrived. Otherwise there was nothing around but plants. Marianne looked down at her basket. Perhaps she and Adeline were not the only ones picking flowers. In fact, Marianne could see some tall stalks behind the wizards that had been broken off at the top …

“Ladies,” the wizards looked much more relaxed, “we are here as guests of Roderick’s mother, Spruce.”

“I see!” Marianne said cheerfully. She wished Adeline would play along too but the princess seemed frozen in fear. “How lovely! Perhaps we shall meet each other later, then!”

“Perhaps, perhaps. What brings you so far from home, princess?”

“We’re picking flowers!”

“… flowers?”

The barely disguised disgust in the wizard’s voice assured Marianne that they definitely had no further suspicions about her and Adeline.

“Yes! They’ll look lovely at the dinner table. Have you seen any cornflowers? If I could just find some cornflowers then the arrangement would be complete.”

The wizards assured her that there were no cornflowers in the area. Marianne feigned disappointment and bemoaned the absence of her ‘favorite flower’. She launched into a list of other kinds of flowers they were looking for, bombarding the wizards with forget-me-nots and bleeding-hearts until they took their leave.

Marianne waited a full minute before rushing toward the broken plants, dragging Adeline with her.

“They’re up to something, no doubt. Are you alright, Adeline?”

From the way Adeline was shaking Marianne thought it safe to assume that her family had dealt with displeased wizards in the past. An unhappy wizard tended to fire off curses at the least provocation. Marianne had a cousin who still had their eyes crossed after stepping on a wizard’s robe. That’s what Marianne had heard, anyway.

“They saw me.” Adeline whispered, “They saw me. They’ll tell him … he’ll figure it out. He’ll find me!”

“Who will find you?”

“I need to go back! I need to go home!”

If it had been any other princess Marianne would have give them a bracing command to get hold of themselves and wait five minutes while she took a look around. But Adeline had shown too much good sense to put on any well-bred hysterics. Marianne put her arm around Adeline and steered her toward home. She could come back to the clearing later with Bog.

Some time later they trudged up to the entrance of Roderick’s cave. It was the first time Marianne had been there. Curiously, she was sure she could hear music being played somewhere inside.

Roderick came out when Marianne called out a greeting. He was … extremely fluffy. He couldn’t have been more than Bog’s size, but a fluffy coat of brown feathers made him look at least half again as big. It was intimidating, paired with the frown on his face. Large brown eyes narrowed when Roderick saw Adeline’s distress. Flames dripped out from between his teeth. Marianne wished she had the fireproofing spell finished.

“What did you do to my princess?!”

* * *

The sound of a hurdy-gurdy playing inside the cave was distracting Marianne.

Yes, there was a furious, fluffy dragon about to turn her into vague scorch marks on the ground, but why on earth would anyone be playing a hurdy-gurdy at such an odd moment. Still, Marianne wasn’t distracted enough to keep her from pulling out her pruning knife and point it at the tip of Roderick’s snout.

“Hello, sir, I am Princess Marianne of Linderwold, princess of the dragon Bog.” She spoke politely while calculating how much damage she could do if she aimed for the tender end of the dragon’s nose, and if that would buy her enough time to make a run for it.

“Roderick! Marianne hasn’t done anything to me!” Adeline’s voice was still thick from crying but was firm, if a little exasperated. “I am not sewing your face back together again!”

Roderick flicked out one more small flame. “I told you everyone is saying Bog’s princess is weird. I knew I shouldn’t have let you go out alone with her.”

“Roderick!”

“She upset you!”

“Roderick, I want to go inside and sit down!”

Roderick fluffed up his feathers. It reminded Marianne of Dawn, as a child, puffing up her cheeks and holding her breath when she was sulking. In a similar way to Dawn giving in and deflating, Roderick’s feathers smoothed down and he moved out of the way to let the princesses enter the cave, doing a strange side-ways hop.

Keeping a wary eye on him, Marianne noticed that Roderick shared a strong family resemblance with Bog. A long, sharp face and similar horns. Roderick might have been wider, but it was hard to tell under the feathers. Perhaps underneath he was as skinny and angular as Bog.

By the time they reached a sitting room the hurdy-gurdy had grown much louder but its source remained out of sight, and Marianne had realized that Roderick was walking with a strange, hopping gait because he was missing his front right leg.

As soon as Adeline was settled on a couch Roderick snarled, “Now get out, weird princess!”

“If you don’t mind, I think Adeline could do with a cup of tea–”

“I _do_ mind. Get out. Shoo. Go plague Bog like a good princess. Tell him he needs to keep a better eye on you.”

“Adeline?” Marianne asked, pretending to ignore Roderick.

Adeline smiled weakly. “Surprisingly, Roderick _can_ make tea.”

“Don’t fraternize with the enemy.” Roderick said, resting his head on the couch next to Adeline and nudging her shoulder rather like a cat seeking attention.

“I’ll explain later,” Adeline told Marianne, “I’m fine now, thank you.”

Putting away her questions about Adeline’s reaction to the wizards, Marianne took her leave. She thought she might have insisted on staying if it wasn’t for the hurdy-gurdy starting to give her a headache. But Roderick was fussing affectionately over his princess and obviously intent on taking good care of her. Not to mention that Adeline had put her arms around his neck, finding comfort in his presence.

Marianne arrived home, tired, puzzled, and cranky.

“And how was your day?” Bog asked facetiously, watching Marianne storm around the kitchen, preparing the herbs for dying.

“I met your cousin, Roderick.”

“Ah. That would ruin anyone’s day. Did he behave himself?”

“If he hadn’t I would have cut his nose off and plucked his feathers for pillows.”

“If you ever do get around to doing that please invite me, I’d love to help.”

“He was more than enough on top of having to deal with the wizards. How Adeline stands him, I don’t know. How does she stand the _music_?”

Bog groaned. “He does that to annoy people. He got an enchanted seashell from a magician and he uses it to play music. I’m going to smash that thing someday.”

“Please, invite me. I’d love to help.”

“What did you say about wizards? He didn’t have wizards visiting, did he? Because he has before. He lets anyone wander in and out of his cave.” Bog scowled and scratched the floor when his feet twitched.

“No, Adeline and I found three wizards out on the mountain. I thought I ought to tell you, they had their staffs with them and claimed they were guests of Roderick’s mother.”

“ _What_?”

Bog looked furious. It was only natural, Marianne thought, being upset that his royal authority had been so casually trampled on.

“Yes,” she continued, “They–”

Marianne dropped her emptied basket. Bog had sprung forward, closing the distance between them to inches, his forefoot hovering next to her like he was about to pick her up.

“Are you–they didn’t–nothing happened to you, did it?” 

The usual lines of irritation had melted from his face and he was looking at her with wide-eyed concern. The suddenness and intensity of his anxiety left Marianne bewildered and unable to speak. It was important for a dragon to protect his princess, for she was a symbol of status, but … but this felt different. Somehow it felt that this had nothing to do with her title or status. Somehow it felt like all Bog cared about was her, Marianne.

“Um, that is …” Bog coughed, his crest giving a quick flip up and down, “it wouldn’t do to … if they …”

Marianne put her hands on the back of his forefoot. His muscles spasmed, making his claws flex. She leaned her head on his, the edges of his scales pressing into her forehead. She felt comfortable with him, almost overwhelmingly so. Never before in her life had she had a friend she could be so casually at ease with.

“I’m fine, Bog. Thank you.”

The back of one claw brushed against her arm, “You’re sure? I will eat all three of them if they touched you!”

“They only thing harmed today was my patience.” She straighted up and gave his nose a pat, quickly busying herself with picking up the basket before he could see the blush on her face. She wasn’t used to being so demonstrative about her feelings. “I’ll fix tea and tell you about it. I think something fishy is going on.”

“You didn’t try and fight them, did you?” Bog asked, using his head to give her a teasing shove.

“Of course not!” Marianne swatted him with her basket, “I didn’t have my sword with me.”

“ … Marianne, please don’t fight the wizards.”

“It was a joke, Bog! I’m not stupid enough to pick a fight with wizards.”

“You picked a fight with _me_.”

“That was different. Dawn was involved. I lost my temper.”

“You mean to say that all that’s keeping you from fighting anything and everything is Dawn’s safety?”

“More or less.”

“You terrify me.”

“Thank you.”


	9. Bog Swims Through Some Self-Reflection

“What is wrong with me? More than usual, that is …”

Bog sank deeper into the bog, spreading out his wings and wiggling them until they floated just beneath the surface of the water. They were the only part of him that floated. The rest of him was too skinny to be buoyant and he tended to sink if he didn’t pay attention.

His mother was had come from a kingdom with more rain and lakes. Her people were stout and round, suited for floating comfortably on the water. His father had been from the mountains, a slim scaled dragon, happily suited to warm conditions. Somehow Bog had inherited his father’s build and his mother’s natural instinct to be surrounded by water. It was an awkward combination.

The only large body of water near the mountain was the bog and his mother had been very fond of it. Fond enough that she thought naming her son after it was perfectly natural.

So Bog ended up with an awkward body and an awkward name and a deep grudge against whatever heavenly powers decreed it would be his fate that he would never be quite one thing or another.

No, he’d never been quite right, but lately he felt even more wrong and he couldn’t put his claw on why that was. Maybe it was too many wizards wandering around his kingdom. As king he and the magical life force of the land were closely bound together and a drain on the kingdom would be a drain on him. But a brief investigation on his part did not turn out any significant harm done. A few patches of dried grass did not amount of much.

Nothing else of note had occurred lately. Except that he had gained a princess. He couldn’t see how that could impact him in a major way. A tidy library and delicious desserts never did any dragon harm. So what was making him so uneasy? The whole arrangement was working out better than he ever would have expected and he and Marianne got on splendidly. Truly, he had grown very fond of her–of her cooking. And tidiness. And how he could talk to her and how she wasn’t in the least put off by his growling. That should have bothered him, because he prided himself on being fierce and unforgiving. With Marianne, however, it was nice to relax. Around her he just wanted to be sort of, well, soft. Gentle. She was adorably tiny and terrifically fierce, Bog just wanted to sit and admire her like a particular fine treasure.

Bog was of half a mind to go ask his mother if this was a normal function of princesses. She was spending a few months with her family in her homeland and he hadn’t heard much from her after she’d sent word that he’d taken on a princess. She had been delighted and stopped nagging, which was a blessing. Now he almost wished she would come back and tell him what was wrong with him. She was good at that.

Bog tucked his wings in, turned over in the water, and unfurled his wings again to keep himself afloat.

Wizards. He had to deal with those wizards. Or think of a decent excuse to just eat them. He couldn’t even accuse them of trespassing since Spruce had invited them. Spruce, what was she up to now … Well, he would talk about it with Marianne. She should be getting back from her visit to Roderick’s princess soon.

There it was again. That strange feeling. That way his heart sort of felt like he had swallow his own flames. A strange anxiety without identifiable cause. He’d felt something similar before–like at the trial to appoint the new king. He had had this feeling of anticipation, anticipation of something good, conflicting with a certainty of unworthiness and failure.

Bog righted himself and beat his wings, sending sheets of water splashing up around him. That was enough overthinking for today. It was time to go home. It was almost sunset. And, besides, Marianne was making plum pudding.


	10. Marianne Receives Pleasant New From an Unpleasant Visitor and Bog Worries About His Heart

“Buttercup!”

The pet name sent shivers of disgust down Marianne’s spine. The deliberate cuteness turned her stomach sour. She felt violated and that made her feel angry. Nobody had any right to call her anything she hadn’t agreed to be addressed as. Nobody had any right to assume they knew her or what she wanted.

Right now she really did not want to be called ‘buttercup’.

“Sir Roland.” Marianne fought down hot anger and covered it up with a shell of icy formality. “How unexpected to see you here so early in the morning.”

“Oh, darling, had you no faith in your faithful knight?” Roland was carrying his helmet under his arm. Marianne wondered if he would bother putting it on if a dragon actually did come out to fight him. After all, Roland’s hair–as carefully tended as a lettuce patch–might be damaged by something as heavy as a helmet.

“True,” Marianne said, “I did expect to be inflicted with your presence sooner rather than later.”

“I thought it best to give it some time,” Roland smiled his charming, calculated smile, “the more opponents that have lost to a dragon, the greater the honor it will be to the knight who finally slays the beast. And I thought you could use a little time to calm down and think things over.”

Marianne was going to hit him. She was going to drive her fist right into his face and hear his nose crunch into splinters. There was no reason to hold back, there was no one here to witness the unseemly act and take her to task for impropriety.

Except punching him meant getting closer and if possible she wanted to maintain a generous distance between them. Not only because she didn’t want to risk him touching her, but also because he might have some trick up his gauntlets, like a sleeping potion or spell of compliance.

“How kind of you, Sir Roland. I have indeed thought things over and reached a decision.”

“Yes?” Roland asked, smiling smugly.

“Yes, I’ve decided to stay right here and continue in my current position as a dragon’s princess.”

Roland’s smile dropped. “Marianne, you can’t be _serious_.”

“As a heart attack. Being a dragon’s princess suits me very well and I see no reason to change anything.”

“Well, it’s not as if it’s your decision anyway,” Roland revived his smile, “Not once I slay the dragon.”

“Nonsense. If you’ll excuse me, I am very busy at the moment.”

It was remarkable, how fast Roland could move in a nearly full suit of armor. He dropped his helmet and had his arms around Marianne before she could duck inside and slam the door. His right arm was uncomfortably tight over her chest, his left around her waist.

“Let go of me! You’re disgusting!”

“Now, now,” Roland gripped her shoulder tight in an overly familiar caress, “just you relax and–”

Marianne thought it best not to let him finish. She had dealt with one or two more aggressive suitors already and had made some preparations to simplify things when their behavior became ungentlemanly.

For example, a handful of ground black pepper tossed into their eyes.

Marianne slipped free and Roland was soon on his knees, coughing, gasping, and sneezing. His hair was quite disheveled.

“If you come back here again, Roland, I’ll cut our your heart!”

Marianne gave him a shove back down the mountain path and his heavy armor obligingly pulled him down and sent him into a clattering roll. 

Brushing pepper out of her hair, Marianne picked up Roland’s helmet and a leather pouch he had dropped, pretending her hands weren’t shaking while she investigated its contents.

She steadied when she saw a letter addressed to her in Dawn’s handwriting, and dashed back inside, feeling considerably more cheerful, and had time to just read the first few sentences before Bog shuffled in looking for breakfast.

* * *

A crash, sounding like several steel drums being rolled down the side of the mountain, woke Bog not long after sunrise.

“I hope that wasn’t my breakfast,” He said, poking his head into the kitchen.

“Sorry!” Marianne was holding a folded piece of paper and looking not apologetic, but delighted. “I got a letter from Dawn!”

“Made of cast iron?”

“No, that was the knight who delivered it. He said he wouldn’t let me have it until I agreed to be rescued so I had to trip him.”

“That’s nice. Where’s my breakfast?”

“You get breakfast every morning! The is the first letter I’ve gotten from Dawn! Go soak in the bog.”

Bog growled and dropped his chin onto the kitchen table. Marianne frowned at him taking up her work space. He grinned. She flipped her hair out of her face and sat down opposite him, holding the letter up so she couldn’t see him.

The letter was written on pale blue parchment and reeked so strongly of perfume that it tickled the back of Bog’s throat. He couldn’t just smell the stuff, he could taste it. Marianne was giggling behind the paper, pleased with it’s contents, so Bog refrained from making any remarks.

“They did it!” Marianne dropped the letter so Bog could see her face again, “They got father to consent to the marriage! Dawn and Sunny are getting married!”

“Sunny? Oh, the smallest one. With the pepper bomb.”

“Shush, it’s not like we used it on you.”

“But you _would_ have.”

“Bog, don’t puff smoke on my sunshine. My little sister and Sunny have been sickeningly in love forever and it was ripping them up inside that they would never be able to get married.”

“Why not?”

“Difference in rank. He tried going on all the quests for poor but worthy young men but none of them worked out. Until he snatched the younger princess of Linderwold from the jaws of a dragon, that is.”

“Yes, fine job there.”

“Cheer up, your breakfast is cooking. Honey and ginger porridge. Something to keep you going until you can go savage something.”

Bog pressed on the table with his chin and made it rock back and forth.

Marianne slapped her hands down on the table to keep it level.

They glared at each other.

Bog pressed a little harder and Marianne’s arms began to buckle. He grinned at her again.

She glared harder and pulled her hands away.

The table flipped onto it’s side and Bog’s chin smashed into the floor.

“This is outrageous behavior for a princess!” Bog huffed, once he was sure he hadn’t bitten his tongue or lost any teeth.

Marianne looked regretful. “I know. i could have broken the table.”

“You nearly broke my jaw!”

“I suppose that would have been bad too.”

Marianne picked her letter up off the floor and smiled over it. She read it through once more before putting it in her apron pocket and turning her attention back to Bog’s breakfast.

Bog righted the table and watched Marianne thoughtfully.

“Things are rather busy right now,” he remarked, “with an infestation of wizards, a plague of knights–”

“And whatever is troubling Adeline,” Marianne added.

“–and now a wedding, too.”

“Oh, well, the wedding isn’t going to be until next year, in the spring. Royal weddings don’t happen overnight, you know. There has to be a due amount of fuss, a certain level of pomp and circumstance, none of which can be procured quickly.”

Bog twiddled his front claws together and almost released a thoughtful puff of smoke before he remembered he was in the kitchen. The way Marianne was smiling over her sister’s good fortune … she looked radiant. Bog wasn’t sure he had ever seen her look so happy. It did something strange to his stomach. Or maybe that was just the perfume making him queasy. But he vaguely wondered if there was any way _he_ could …

Marianne hadn’t said anything, but … she had rushed out to fight a dragon the moment she knew her sister was in peril. It was plain to see that the two of them were close. Now the distressingly cute younger sister was getting married and naturally Marianne would want to be there …

“Dawn is keen on the fireproofing spell,” Marianne was saying, “She says she’ll send me some of the ingredients I still haven’t been able to find, as long as she can find an obliging knight on his way here. Soon she’ll start bombarding me with samples of fabric and ribbon so I can give my opinions on her wedding gown. Oh, I’ll have to think of a gift to send her–”

“Wouldn’t you like to bring it yourself?” Bog asked the question with gruff abruptness, scratching his claws up and down his front leg.

The wooden spoon Marianne was stirring with dropped into the porridge and disappeared. “Bog, if that’s a joke I’m going to really actually break your jaw.”

“Spare me, I beg of you. It’s important to you? To be there?”

“Yes, of course, but–I mean, is that allowed? Giving your princess a holiday?”

“Since when have you cared about what’s allowed?”

“I know, it’s just–I didn’t expect–I made a commitment here and I thought the terms included, or at least, _didn’t_ include leaving at any point.”

“If you don’t stop dithering I’ll roast you until you’re medium rare.”

Marianne laughed. Her face lit up, even more radiant than before. It had been Bog’s hope to cause that, but even so his heart fluttered in surprise.

“Bog, I might hug you.”

“Denied.” Bog said, hastily shoving the table over, trapping Marianne by the stove.

“You can’t stop my gratitude!”

“Just–just send it from over there.”

Marianne grinned impishly and blew him a kiss.

Bog’s heart was really not alright.


	11. Tableclothes Catch Fire and Adeline's History Begins to Come to Light

Marianne had a lot of things weighing on her mind.

Adeline’s distress. Wizards running rampant over the mountain. Roland possibly repairing his injured dignity and returning. Getting the last few ingredients for the fireproofing spell. Cooking up enough buckets of chocolate mousse for the banquet Bog was hosting for some high ranking dragons.

And last, but far from least, there was the worrying way her heart was misbehaving, fluttering and bouncing.

Her stomach, too. In fact, her head was turning against her as well, getting hazy when she was trying to think, and her cheeks turning red even when she wasn’t working over the fire. And all of it had only gotten worse since Dawn’s letter arrived. Maybe it was homesickness? Being anxious to go home for a visit? The idea of leaving only made the fluttering in her heart worse, somehow. Being away from Bog–Bog’s cave–was a disheartening thought.

A daze had settled heavily over her when there was a knock at the door to the inside of the mountain. She rubbed her eyes and went to admit the guest.

Adeline stood outside the door, her face blank, but her hands were twisting a gold and green butterfly-shaped brooch pinned at her waist. “Hello, Marianne. May I come in?”

“Of course! How are you feeling?”

“Fine, thank you.”

She sat down and accepted a cup of tea with impersonal politeness.

“Um.” Marianne said, cutting two pieces of the strawberry cheesecake she had made the day before, “What brings you here today?”

Adeline set her tea down gently in its saucer. “I wanted to explain my behavior the other day and apologize for it. It was a misunderstanding, you see. I overreacted. Very silly of me, I know. I’m afraid I’m more of a proper princess than I thought.”

She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Liar.” Marianne said flatly. Dawn often covered up unhappiness with false cheerfulness and Marianne recognized the same symptoms in Adeline, even if her disguise of choice was cool formality. Marianne called Adeline out on it automatically.

The single word acted like a blow and Adeline’s smooth face crumpled. Marianne felt like a brute. “I’m sorry, I’m very sorry, but–but–oh, I don’t know anymore. All these secrets! All these lies! Hiding from everyone … it’s awful!”

This was progress, Marianne supposed, though her conscience stung at the sight of Adeline’s tear-filled eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Would you promise not to talk about it?” Adeline took Marianne’s hand, “swear not to tell anyone? It’s–it’s not for me, but it would be bad for Roderick and–and someone else.”

“Would it cause trouble for anyone if I kept it secret?”

“No, I don’t think so. No, I’m sure it wouldn’t.”

“Then I promise not to tell anyone. What’s happened?” Marianne prepared her ears to receive Adeline’s troubles as she had so often prepared them to receive Dawn’s.

Adeline sat back and fidgeted with her brooch. “The truth is I’m not a princess at all.”

“Oh.” Marianne took a moment to sip her tea and turn this revelation over in her mind. “I suppose that explains how sensible you are.”

“Aren’t you angry?”

“No? I’m sure you have your reasons, and I can’t be mad at you for keeping it from me. We’ve only just met. Does Roderick know?”

“Yes. It was his idea.”

“Mm, it would be.”

“It would be a disgrace to him if anyone found out I wasn’t a princess. He doesn’t care, but I don’t want to be the source of trouble for him. Not after he’s been so kind to me.”

“Eat your cheesecake, you look like you haven’t eaten.”

“I haven’t had much of an appetite …”

“Understandable. The wizards we met, do they know who you are?”

“Not exactly.” Adeline took a bite of cake and with some effort managed to swallow it. “They don’t know me at all. I’ve only seen them from a distance. They’re associated with … with someone who knows what I am. If they tell him about me and he figures out it’s me …”

“I see.”

Marianne reflected on Adeline’s desperation over the thought of discovery and felt anger building up. This person must have done something terrible to Adeline. It was a ‘he’ so Marianne could imagine what kind of terrible things he might have done. For the second time that day she experienced an overwhelming desire to smash a man’s face in.

“This is definitely something no one needs to know about,” Marianne reassured Adeline, “And a dragon’s cave is the perfect place for you to be. It’s very secure. Hm, but then again, the dragon is _Roderick_.”

Adeline laughed a little. “It serves him right, being thought of like that. He makes such an effort to give people the impression that he’s useless. No, Roderick is a very good friend to me. He looks after me and–he looks after me very well. I’m lucky that he found me.”

Now a few tears fell from Adeline’s eyes. Marianne handed her a handkerchief. She always made sure she had several handkerchiefs. You never know when you might need one.

“That’s good. You don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you for letting me talk. I didn’t mean to burden you with all this.”

Marianne flapped a hand before picking up the teapot. “It’s hard, pretending to be something you’re not. I know a little bit what’s that like. Trying to pretend to be a proper princess. One little lie to please someone, another little lie to continue the pretense … soon there’s not much left of yourself but lies.”

“That’s a good way of putting it.”

“I think it’s the same with most princesses. Real or pretending. That’s why I think it’s so silly that we can’t just take off our masks and have some tea when no one is looking.”

“It’s funny, I think that’s why Roderick likes me. He can be himself.”

“Good heavens, is that safe?”

Adeline giggled. “I wonder!”

* * *

The tablecloth was on fire.

“I’m s-s–achoo!”

Thang, queen of the dragons, sneezed again, a blast of fire turning more of the tablecloth to a handful of black ashes. Marianne handed him another handkerchief.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Thang sniffed, “I met a wizard on the way here, you see. Wandering around where he shouldn’t be. I had to eat him.”

Marianne swept up the ashes and made a mental note never to bother with tablecloths again when setting up for a banquet.

Thang continued with profuse apologies for some time. Bog pinched the bridge of his snout and was taking deep breaths to calm himself. The banquet was not going well. It had been meant as an informal gathering where the dragons could discuss the wizard problem in a relaxed atmosphere over good food. So far there had just been a lot of arguing. Most of it provoked by Roderick’s antics.

Adeline and Marianne exchanged grim looks while clearing the main course. When she was at an angle where only Roderick could see her, Adeline made a cutting gesture across her throat with her thumb. Roderick batted his eyes at her.

“Bog is going to explode,” Marianne said when they were in the food preparation area where the dragons couldn’t hear them, “He’s going to blow himself up into bits and take the whole room with him.”

“Not before I get my hands on Roderick,” Adeline said with unusual fierceness, “He told me he wasn’t coming! He’s supposed to be at home!”

The whole day had been one unpleasantness after another. Marianne had taken Bog to the place she had met the wizards and showed him the plant they were picking. After a brief sniff at the plant Bog had reared up and launched himself into the sky, perching himself on the rocks that formed a wall around the clearing.

Marianne picked a piece of the plant and smelled it. It’s scent wasn’t particularly good or bad, certainly no reason for Bog to recoil so suddenly. It was an unfamiliar specimen, dark purple with spiky leaves.

“Put that down!” Bog scrabbled on the rocks when she approached.

Marianne tossed it over her shoulder. “I take it we don’t like this plant?”

“It’s _dragonsbane_.”

“I infer from the name that we _really_ don’t like it.”

“Just wash your hands before you come over here.”

So Bog had brought the news of wizards picking dragonsbane to the banquet and after its introduction to the conversation things got much louder. Dragonsbane, Bog had told Marianne, could easily kill a grown dragon in the right amount, and badly sicken them in smaller doses.

Marianne decided to take some gardening supplies later and see how many dragonsbane plants she could uproot and dispose of. It might be too little too late, but it was the best she could do. Her testimony of seeing the wizards hovering around the plants certainly wasn’t helping. After the initial hubbub most of the dragons started casting doubt on the word of a silly princess. Roderick was actually saying they should listen to Marianne, but she was sure he was just taking up the opposing opinion to be contrary.

“Can you spare me for a few minutes?” Adeline asked once the chocolate mousse was served, “I _have_ to run back home. _Please_.”

“Did Roderick leave the stove burning?” Marianne wondered after Adeline threw off her apron and pelted down the passageway.

By the time Marianne was about to serve coffee Adeline was back with a basket clutched in her arms. She tucked it between a chair and the wall before rushing over to help Marianne with the coffee pot.

“Everything alright now?” Marianne asked.

“Sort of, thank you.”

“What do you have in here?” Marianne went to look inside the basket.

“No!” Adeline almost shouted, “Please don’t–!”

The basket gurgled.

Marianne recoiled.

“It’s alive? Not the basket–whatever’s _in_ the basket?”

The basket emitted a thin wail.

Adeline reached into the basket and pulled out–

“A baby.” Marianne said stupidly, “That’s a baby.”

Adeline winced while she rocked the baby to soothe it. “I’m going to kill Roderick.”

After the dragons and dispersed Marianne started cleaning up the banquet hall. Adeline held the baby, trying to get it to sleep. She looked more nervous than she had when she’d told Marianne that she wasn’t a princess. Marianne’s head was whirling with possible explanations for the baby’s existence. Given what she knew and inferred from what Adeline told her the most obvious explanations were also the most unpleasant ones.

Roderick peeped into the room. “Addy, I can explain.”

“You left him alone!” Adeline whispered fiercely.

“In the enchanted cradle! Nothing can hurt him when he’s in there. And just for a few minutes! I couldn’t pass up pulling Bog’s tail a little.”

“You left him _alone_.”

Roderick lowered himself until he was groveling on the floor. “And I realize now that it was entirely the wrong thing to do.”

“You left him all alone, Roderick.” Adeline’s voice was shaking.

Marianne kept scrubbing at the scorch marks on the table and waited for them to remember she was there.

“Aw, Addy.” Roderick got up and went over to rub the top of his head on Adeline’s shoulder, “It was stupid, I’m sorry. It’s alright, I won’t leave him alone again, I swear. I won’t leave either of you alone. Forgive me.”

“Maybe later,” Adeline said, wiping tears off her face. “Um, Marianne?”

“Present,” Marianne waved her scrub brush.

“You have questions.”

“I have questions.”

“This–this is William,” Adeline shifted the sleepy baby in her arms until Marianne could see it. She spoke in a tentative way, but there was a warmth and pride there too. It was a bit like when Bog showed Marianne his favorite treasures.

“Gwill.” Roderick corrected.

“You don’t talk right now, Roderick.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“He’s–he’s mine.” Adeline stroked William’s–or Gwill’s–curly blonde hair. He couldn’t have been more than a year old. He blinked and flexed his fingers in and out. “My little boy. Before you ask, no, I’m not married.”

“I wasn’t going to. This is all just … surprising.”

“I wasn’t ready to tell you. It’s so–so shameful. I didn’t want you to think–to know that I’m–”

“I think he’s beautiful.” Marianne said firmly. “The only shameful thing is Roderick running off and leaving a baby all alone.”

Roderick groaned and covered his face. “I’m outnumbered and, even worse, you’re both right.”

“You won’t tell anyone?” Adeline asked anxiously.

“Of course not! But how have you managed to keep him hidden?”

“A hurdy-gurdy can cover up a lot of other noises.” Roderick said, looking smug at his own cleverness, “and the shell can be tuned so the music only bothers other people. We can’t even hear it. And, hey now, weird princess, if you tell anyone about this I’ll–”

Marianne cut him off with a hard look. “You’re not talking right now, Roderick. Adeline, I have to go. I just want you to know that you don’t owe me any explanations, and whatever situation you were in before you came here? I’m glad you got out of it.”

Truth be told, Marianne was holding back a whole string of questions. But her upbringing had instill firm ideas about tact and she kept her questions to herself. Even the question of where she could find William’s father and personally deliver a blunt object to his face.

“Oh, dear, what about the cleaning in here?” Adeline said, hitching William up on her shoulder and pulling his blanket around him.

“I believe we can find a suitable volunteer for that,” Marianne said, looking over at Roderick. He was flattening his feathers and trying to look smaller.

“Yes, ma’am.” he said in a small voice.

“Before I go,” Marianne rubbed her hands on her apron, her cheeks getting warm, “could I, uh, could I see him again? William?”

Adeline smiled and carefully handed him to Marianne and helped her figure out how to hold him. Marianne was embarrassed. It didn’t seem dignified to coo over a baby. It seemed very princessy. But William was very cute. When he smiled at her she just about melted. She was going to have to go hit something with her sword to make herself feel composed again.

She handed him back to Adeline. “If you tell anyone about this I will silence you with swift and unmoderated prejudice.”

Roderick snorted and fluffed his feathers, “Coward.”

 


	12. Roderick Helps Find Hens' Teeth and Glitter

It was Roderick’s fault.

He had insisted on coming with Adeline when she went to help Marianne sort through some of the things in the treasury.

“I’ll behave, I promise. I’m a reformed character.”

“Does he say that every week?” Marianne asked.

“He says that every _day_.” Adeline replied.

Gwill was settled into a corner of the treasure room that Marianne had already cleaned. Adeline had brought a few folding panels that she formed into a play pen and lined with blankets. Given a stack of gold coins, Gwill built towers and babbled about his structures gleefully.

Roderick contented himself with moving the heavier treasures, at first, and nosing around in nooks and crannies for possible entertainment. Marianne and Adeline set to work sorting out a small pharmacy worth of magical potions and ingredients.

“Except this one is just cayenne pepper,” Adeline said, holding up a dusty jar full of red powder.

“And this one is weevils with some flour in it.” Marianne smacked the lid back on a tin. “Somehow the kitchen got mixed up in here.”

“Well, this one is definitely magical.” Adeline tipped a jar forward a little so Marianne could see that the contents were glowing green and oozing.

“It’s like some sort of terrible roulette game.” Roderick shook cobwebs off his feather ruff and came over to rest his chin on Adeline’s shoulder. “No matter what you lose. It’s just a choice of losing boring or losing gross.”

Adeline wiggled underneath the weight of Roderick’s head, “You’re in my light.”

“I’m the light of your life, that’s what I am.”

“I’ll knock his lights out for you,” Marianne offered, “It’ll save Bog the trouble of doing it when he gets back.”

“Leave me alone! I’m being _helpful_.” Roderick picked up a jar from one of the many piles the women had been sorting them into. He used the very tips of his claws to take hold of the lid and give it a deft little twist.

Marianne reached to take it back. “No! Not one with a lead stopper! Bog said not to–”

A dazzling burst of sparkling blue light erupted from the open jar, blinding all three of them.

–not to open those! They’re dangerous!” Marianne grit her teeth and rubbed her eyes. Some sort of grainy dust had settled over her. It was trickling down her collar and getting into her mouth.

“Roderick!” Adeline almost shrieked his name.

“I guess we can also lose … sparkly.” Roderick said, sounding a little stunned.

“I’m free! I’m _free_! _I’m free_!”

The contents of the jar included some sort of magical being, Marianne guessed, hearing a shrill and unfamiliar female voice shouting in jubilation. Which had a high possibility of being a bad thing. A very bad thing. No one went to the trouble of bottling up a fairy or djinn just for the pure love of it. When such jars, bottles, or lamps were marked they tended to read something along the lines of “the feared djinn of Retzulah who did smite three hundred men before he was sealed”.

At least whatever Roderick had released seemed grateful, at the moment.

“Why is there all this … sparkly dust?” Adeline held up her hands, the light reflecting off them in sparks and spangles. She was looking toward Gwill’s corner of the room, but it hand thankfully escaped the explosion. Gwill was staring through the bars of his crib, fascinated by the glitter falling all around.

“Pardon me? Pardon me!” Marianne called toward the blue ball of light zooming around the room in clouds of silver-blue dust, “May I speak with you, please?”

“… get my nails done, then get my lute tuned, maybe bottle up some trouble and make myself a little coin, if the primroses are in bloom …! Oh! So much to do! Huh? Did you say something?”

“Yes,” Marianne coughed, “May I ask who we have the pleasure of receiving?”

“Yes, yes! Indeed!” 

Some of the dust blew away, or perhaps it condensed, and the glittering blue shape of a woman about a foot tall appeared, floating in the air. Her form was vaguely human and she was wearing some sort of tiara. Marianne did not count the tiara as a good sign. Royalty, or creatures with aspirations to royalty, did not take kindly to imprisonment.

“Oh, no.” Roderick said. His face and front had been coated almost blue with the dust while his back end was still nearly fully brown. “Bog is going to kill me.”

“How is that different from any other day? Now, shush.” Adeline whispered.

“Ladies,” the blue woman said, “this is a delight! You cannot imagine how cramped a jar can get. Or how boring! You can only sing so many songs to yourself before you run out of ones you know all the lyrics to and you start in on the ones where you have to hum every other bar.”

“I can’t imagine,” Marianne agreed, “that must have been wearing.” At least the creature was proving amiable, even if somewhat manic.

“Wasn’t it _just_. I’m Aura, dear, fairy godmother. Charmed to meet you.”

“Ah, yes. Quite. I’m Princess Marianne, this is Princess Adeline, and _that_ is Roderick. You’re a fairy godmother?”

Marianne had met her own fairy godmother and aside from a wand and a brief puff of glitter upon materialization the woman had not deviated much in appearance from most middle-aged court ladies. Certainly she had little in common with this Aura creature.

“Part time, anyway. I dabble a bit with the djinn trade, a little bit of mischievous pixie … I’m quite diverse. Wait, Roderick, did you say? Not the Roderick who is cousin to–”

“It’s finally happening,” Roderick groaned, “I’m going to die and Bog will turn me into pillows so no one will ever find what happened to me.”

“My, my. Is he still in a tiff over that?” Aura asked Roderick. “Perhaps I should work on making myself scarce. Be a dear and tell him I said hello and that I do hope he hasn’t strained his face with all that grimacing.”

“Sure thing,” Roderick said dismally.

“Oh, my! You were the one who flipped my lid? What a kind boy. Would you like a reward? I could whip you up brew of–”

“No, no, no!” Roderick waved his forefoot, “no potions!”

“Hang on–I mean,” Marianne remembered her manners in spite of her annoyance, and thinking it might be better to stop Aura from running off and causing chaos, “Excuse me, is there some sort of … unsettled business between you and the king? Perhaps you ought to wait–”

“No, that’s fine, that’s fine!” Aura flapped her hands, swirling the dust around, “Nothing of any importance! I can drop in to talk about it any day! Here, Roderick, dear? Was there anything I could get for you before I take off?”

“Oh no, just please go–wait! Yes, actually. Do you have any hen’s teeth?”

“Do I have any hen’s teeth? Does a shrubber have shrubberies? Of course I have hen’s teeth, you silly feather-head!”

Aura tossed a tiny ball of blue light at Roderick. When it landed in his outstretched claws it turned into a chubby little clay jar.

“There. By the way, who are you two lovely ladies?”

“Adeline, Roderick’s princess.” Adeline said, sketching a curtsy.

“Marianne, princess of Bog, the king of the dragons.”

“Ooh!” Aura flitted up to take a closer look at Marianne’s glitter dusted face, “He actually got himself a princess? I _have_ to pop around for tea some day and hear all about it! Bye now!”

Marianne, Adeline, and Roderick stood in the sparkling dust, trying to process what had just happened. Gwill was squealing in his play pen, excited by all the glitter and flying ladies.

Drawing in a deep breath, trying to avoid inhaling the dust, Marianne said, “ _Roderick_ …”

Roderick held up the jar of hen’s teeth like a protective amulet.

“You can’t be mean to me! I’m being _helpful_.”


	13. Bog Tells a Silly Story and Worries About It

Considering how much everything glittered at the moment the cave was remarkably gloomy.

It had been almost entirely redundant for Marianne to explain to Bog what had happened in the treasure room. One look at the coating of sparkling dust and Bog had known the cause. Marianne had made an effort to clean it up before Bog returned but the dust was resistant to scrubbing. It stuck to everything with an shakeable death-grip.

“If it had been labeled we might not have had this trouble,” Marianne pointed out after Bog settled down. Two tapestries would need to be replaced, a table had been splintered, and the smell of smoke was going to cling to everything for nearly as long as the glitter.

“You assume Roderick can _read_.” Bog snapped, sweeping his tail back and forth in a furious tempo.

“Yes, but if it had been marked I would have known to put it out of reach.”

“As much as I admire your sensible nature on the whole right this moment I could do without it!”

“Should I start chewing on the furniture too? I can’t see how that would be much of a help. How about you tell me the fine points of what’s going on and why Aura was in a jar?”

“None of your business.” Bog muttered, hunching his plated shoulders and turning his head away.

Marianne’s afternoon had been spent battling a losing war with the dust and even after a bath and change of clothing she was shimmering with it. Her eyes were sore from the glitter of light bouncing off the walls and floors from the treasury room to the door Aura had taken to get to the mountains outside. For Adeline’s sake she had suppressed any number of impulses to drive a knife through Roderick’s eye. She had even explained the situation to Bog without complaining, in case the matter might turn out to be important.

She was fed up.

A chair, somehow whole, was dragged over and Marianne stood on it for a better vantage point for imminent shouting.

“Bog, I am _glittering_ with this business! This business has invaded every aspect of my life today! I do _not_ need your bad attitude right now!”

Bog pulled himself up so he could loom over her again. “I do not have a bad attitude–!”

Marianne smacked his nose and he hunched back down again, his crest rising in shock, “You are a walking, flying, rampaging bad attitude!”

“I–”

“No! You’ve already had your temper tantrum! It’s my turn!”

“I did not have a temper–”

Marianne screamed.

Roared, would be more accurate. She had been accumulating and suppressing anger for some time now, especially since Roland’s visit, and it all burst out of her as violently as Aura had from the jar.

Bog’s eyes widened and he sat back with a bump.

Marianne took a calming breath. “See how that feels? Or do I need to smash something too?”

“… no.”

“Shall we discuss this business now?”

“… yes.”

“Thank you.”

Marianne gathered her skirt to one side and began to get down from her chair. Bog held up a claw, rather like a gentleman offering his hand to a lady coming down from a carriage. Marianne took it and stepped down.

“Now,” Marianne took a seat on the chair and pretended her cheeks weren’t red, “Why was Aura in a jar?”

“She–I–I’m sorry.” Bog ducked his head. Marianne wasn’t sure if he was, or if it was even possible, but she thought Bog might be blushing. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“Lost? You picked it up and hurled it into the wall along with the table.”

“Ugh.” Bog covered his face, but parted his claws to peek back out at her, “But … how do you roar so well? You’re tiny!”

It was Marianne’s turn to cover her flushed face.

Bog chuckled.

Marianne kicked him without looking up.

“Such a violent princess!”

“Ugh!”

“I was almost afraid I’d get burned.”

“ _Ugh_!”

“Truly, you’re more fiery than I am most of the time.”

“I’m going to kill you with my bare hands.”

Bog was sitting with his legs and tails tucked away, resembling a very amused heap of jagged rocks. Marianne wanted to punch him, but she was also comforted by how approving his teasing was. Like he enjoyed poking fun but in a fond way, not telling her to change.

Her heart was doing funny things again.

“L-let’s just call it a draw,” Marianne said with a cough.

“Yes. Alright … Best two out of three?”

Now it was Marianne laughing. “We’ll have to get back to that later.”

“I suppose. We need to discuss … _Aura_.”

The strength of the loathing that Bog put into the name might have been a match for the loathing Marianne used when speaking Roland’s name. The exhausted disgust on Bog’s face was certainly something Marianne empathized with in general.

All at once the disgust dropped from Bog’s face and he looked sad and tired. His crest was flat and head drooped. He sighed.

“It’s a bit complicated.”

Marianne pulled her legs up and arranged herself to sit cross-legged on the chair, leaning her elbows on her knees and dropping her chin into her still sparkling hands. “There’s plenty of time. I promise to be a proper princess and not pick a fight until you’re finished.”

“The consideration of royalty is exceptional. Well, the gist of things is . . ."

* * *

Bog was afraid Marianne was going to think he was a very silly dragon indeed.

It was inevitable that she was going to think badly of him once all was said and done. Somehow it was even worse that she would think him silly. She held such disdain for silliness. But Marianne was watching him, one delicate eyebrow raised in expectation, and he had to begin.

“I imprisoned Aura before I was king. Quite some time before. She had been creating no small amount of chaos in the mountains and forest, peddling her brews, mixing enchanted princes in with the local frog population, disguising herself as a old beggar to reward anyone who was kind to her, or jinx anyone who disregarded her … It was driving the king at the time to her wit’s end.”

“I can see why.”

“We … the younger dragons … thought it to be sort of, well, fun.”

Bog ducked his head and braced himself for mockery.

Marianne did not disappoint. “So this is about your misspent youth? Did you dare each other to throw rocks through her windows? See if she’d turn you into newts?”

Bog released a sizzling puff of smoke and gave Marianne a sour look.

Marianne mimed buttoning her lips shut and nodded at him to continue.

“Everyone knew she made … _love potions_.”

Now his stomach was twisting like he’d eaten a wizard that disagreed with him. Roderick and the others had been making fun of him, as was their habit, teasing that no one would ever like an odd looking dragon that was more smoke than fire.

“I was very young. Everything seemed much worse than it was and I was stupid and, and stupidly desperate. My whole life I’d been the strange one, not belonging on the mountain or in the sea, looking like I’d had a boulder dropped on my face–mmph!”

Bog swallowed the smoke that had been curling out of his mouth when Marianne put her hand on his face. She rubbed her thumb along the line of a scar under his eye, where his scales grew the wrong way. “Did the boulder do this?”

“Ah, no, that was a griffin, actually–”

“Wouldn’t your face be flat if a boulder was dropped on it? Instead of sharp and–and fierce?”

“You’re missing the point.”

“No, I think I’ve got all the points accounted for.” She tapped the end of his snout.

“H-how glib. Look, as I was saying, I thought it was the end of the world that she–that someone didn’t like me. Or might not like me. I didn’t really try and find out, I just went to Aura and–”

Bog sunk as low as the floor allowed and scraped himself back from Marianne. No matter how many years passed the memory of that time hurt. Shock, horror, shame, and grief all mixed together in sticky confusion. It was at the very heart of him, the truth of him, evidence that he should never have become king, no matter how the trials had turned out.

“You used the love potion on someone?” Marianne asked. 

The summation was ridiculously over-simplified but Bog replied, “Yes.”

“What happened?”

“It didn’t work. It couldn’t work. Not on something so hideous as me. I tried to make myself believe Aura was to blame so I caught her. A lot of the dragons thought that was a fine service performed for the kingdom, but I was just doing it for myself.”

It was going to happen again. Maybe not with screams this time, but he was going to see repulsion on Marianne’s face. That friendly light in her eyes would die. She would probably ask the next knight that came along for a ride down the mountain.

“Would you,” Marianne spoke slowly, “Would you use the love potion again?”

The plates rustled all over Bog’s body as he shuddered. “No! It was a despicable thing to do! If it had worked, on that poor sweet thing, it would have been enslavement! I would have taken away her own thoughts and feelings and–”

“I can see why we don’t want Aura running around selling love potions.”

“Marianne?”

“Yes?” Marianne’s eyes had gone distant, lost in thoughts Bog couldn’t make out.

“If you want to go home … I understand. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“I see. Well, the arrangements won’t be too hard.”

Bog felt a little like a sword had slipped through his armor and struck his heart. He had been expecting this, but it still hurt so much.

“Seeing as I’m already there.” Marianne continued.

Bog looked up. “What?”

Marianne was still sitting with her legs crossed and she had folded her arms, her head turned away from Bog, spots of red on her cheeks. “I’ve gotten comfortable here and I don’t see how I could make myself go back to dancing and embroidering all the live long day. This cave is my home. If you’ll have me.”

“Have _you_? Will _you_ have _me_?”

“Well, I’m certainly not thinking of trading you in for Roderick!”

“Don’t you think I’m horrible? And silly?”

“Very silly, yes. But we all do silly things. I was in love with Roland, at one point, to my shame. The point is that you _try_ not to be silly, which is all we can expect of anyone. You worry too much.”

Marianne got off her chair and came over to scratch the back of Bog’s neck where the scales never shed properly. He closed his eyes and sighed. He really liked having his own princess.


	14. Marianne Can't Sleep So She Tells Bog A Story

Marianne was having trouble sleeping.

Never in her life had she had so much to worry over and it was keeping her thoughts in such a dizzying whirl that sleep was almost impossible. Truth be told she liked being in the middle of things, being useful. It was just that she wasn’t accustomed to it.

At least she and Adeline were about to complete the fireproofing spell, thanks to Roderick’s escapade with Aura’s jar. The spell worked, too. They had experimented with holding their fingers in the flame of a candle, working their way up to having Roderick breathe fire at their outstretched hand. The flames washed over Marianne’s skin, warm and tickling, without so much as singeing her sleeves.

More, extremely cautious, testing proved that if Adeline was holding Gwill the spell protected him as well.

“I’m not enchanting my son, even for his own good,” Adeline said firmly.

Roderick, showing unexpected sense, agreed. “You don’t monkey around with spells on a malleable little hatchling.”

“I’ve seen a lot of christening blessings that have turned into the worst sorts of tangles. It’s just as well, since he can’t recite the couplet to renew the spell himself.” Marianne agreed.

“And I definitely don’t want William learning it’s safe to stick his hand in the fire.” Adeline added. Gwill had been fascinated with poking his tiny fingers into the candle, so much so that all the adults present found it disquieting. “I’m going to have to watch him like a hawk until he forgets.”

Marianne had gone home afterwards and scared Bog nearly out of his armor by picking up a burning piece of wood from the stove and saying, “Look!” He’d hit his head on the ceiling and was still in a bit of a sulk about it.

One more task completed, Marianne should have felt easier. Instead she was laying in bed staring at the dark ceiling. Her light-starved eyes were fabricating blossoms of color in the dark and she watched them drifting aimlessly. Her newest worry was her biggest worry.

A magical being that made love potions was running loose in the same vicinity that Roland was still possibly lurking in. A knight or two had dropped by since his visit, but no sign of hide nor shining hair of Roland. It would be comforting to imagine he had given up, but not realistic. Roland was persistent and slow to give up on any of his plans. That would be like admitting he was wrong. If a love potion fell into his hands, though, Marianne couldn’t imagine him passing up the chance to snare her once and for all.

The worry itched at Marianne until she gave up on sleep and got out of bed. She slipped on a warm, quilted dressing gown that her magical closet kindly provided, and started to roam the corridors in her slippered feet. At least moving around tricked her nerves into thinking she was taking some sort of action against the dangers that loomed. She went to the kitchen and cleaned already clean things, dusted the spotless shelves of newly organized books in the library, and scraped a few more handfuls of sparkling dust off the treasure room floor.

The third time Marianne wandered past Bog’s den he thrust out his forefoot to block her way. “Are you just going to patter about all night?”

Marianne sighed. The flame of her candle fluttered and the light made Bog’s eyes flicker from bright blue to dark. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“And yet here I am, wide awake. Is there a particular reason you’re nipping about in the dead of night or is it merely a new pastime?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“That can be disastrous at this time of the night.”

“I started doing it during the day and it followed me to bed. I’ll go back to my room. Sorry for disturbing you.”

“What’s disturbing you that you end up disturbing me?”

Marianne shook her head. “Only some princessly hysteria.”

Bog snorted, accidentally blowing out Marianne’s candle. “Either you’re working out how to slay me in my sleep or you’re worrying over something that needs worrying about. Do you … want to talk?”

The offer weakened Marianne’s grip on her fears. It took a moment for her to wrestle them back down so she could reply, “Yes, thank you, I would.”

Bog’s room always smelled of pine and smoke. Most of the enormous pillows he used to sleep on were stuffed with pine needles, and when he slept he tended to smoke a little. Marianne liked the wild tang of it. The smell was comforting as she lit a lamp and pulled up a seat on a cushion Bog offered her. He curled back up in his bed and watched her with his vivid blue eyes.

“You remember Roland?” Marianne began, tucking her hair back behind her ear.

“Useless knight you were supposed to marry?”

“That’s right. He came by the other day to rescue me.”

“Poor fool. What did you do to him?”

“Not enough. You see … well, our betrothal wasn’t an arranged one. He’s a knight from another kingdom and he came to woo me and … and he did it very well, at first. He had me head over heels for him.” 

Marianne stopped, stinging from admitting these things to Bog. Her only virtue was her sensibleness. She wasn’t supposed to be like all the other silly princesses.

“What did the fool do to ruin it?” Bog prompted.

“He was–it’s so obvious now that he was only after my crown. If he married me he’d be king, since my father has no sons. I made myself so blind I couldn’t see anything but what I wanted. I was _stupid_.”

“Marianne, I know about being stupid and in love.”

“I should have known he was using me!”

“Did anyone else?”

“Did … that he was just after my crown? No, not really. Even when I told them no one took my word for it …”

“Then why should you have known any better than them? Anyway, _you_ figured it out in the end, right?”

“Only … only because I caught him with another woman …”

There was a deep, long silence.

In the dim room Marianne could see flames flickering behind Bog’s teeth. “He won your heart and couldn’t even be bothered to–what kind of moronic–”

“It’s my fault for–”

“It’s not your fault that someone hurt you!”

“I should have seen! I should have protected myself! Now he’s somewhere at the base of the mountain and Aura is out there selling love potions! What if he comes back with one and uses it on me? If I’d just had _sense_ in the first place–”

Bog got up and shuffled around until he had circled himself around Marianne’s cushion in a warm, sheltering wall. He rested his head next to her so his eye was on level with her face.

“You’ve got the good sense of ten and cleverness of twenty.”

“Bog … what if he gets a love potion?” Marianne’s eyes ached with unshed tears, but having a dragon curled up around her was easing some of the worry. Right now, at this moment, she was completely safe.

“We won’t let him. I’ve got everyone on the alert for Aura. She’ll be caught. If we have problems with knights in the meantime I’ll just eat them.”

Marianne put her arms around Bog’s neck. “Thank you.”

“No–no problem.” Bog’s crest twitched. He tilted his head toward her a little more, doing the closest equivalent a dragon could to returning her hug. “We can do more planning about dealing with Aura in the morning. Or now, since we’re awake.”

“The morning is just fine. Is it alright if I stay here a little while?”

“Um. Yes. Good. You’re good.”

Bog was warm and dry, the dampness from sulking in his bog having already evaporated. Marianne could hear his heartbeat, so much louder than her own. It was a little bit erratic. Probably from being angry about Roland. It was like a drumbeat when it leveled out.

It was nice, she thought, being a dragon’s princess.


	15. Roderick Doesn't Explain Anything and Bog and Marianne Reluctantly Babysit

“Whatever it is, Roderick, the answer is _no_.”

Bog had woken up that morning in a remarkably pleasant frame of mind and he resented Roderick showing up and trampling on it. The day itself was in a state of drizzling gloom, but when Marianne suggested going on a walk Bog had been happy to agree. She pattered along next to him, a trim little creature in her short walking skirt, looking almost unbearably … Well, Bog couldn’t put a word to it. “Adorable” seemed superficial, He might have thought “pretty” but he couldn’t really make the word fit a human. All he could be certain of was that he liked looking at her. It was confusing.

Marianne had been struggling to climb up a steep incline and Bog had been wondering how many claws it would be worth losing to see her face if he picked her up and set her at the top, when Roderick descended. Roderick landed and balanced on his haunches, holding his forefoot to his chest.

“Bog, I–”

“I said _no_.”

“Bog, there’s a problem–”

“Not _my_ problem.”

“Kind of is, actually. The thing is–”

“If it isn’t official business I don’t care, Roderick.”

“It’s important, you soggy frog!” Roderick snapped his teeth. “And I was going to ask if I could talk to Marianne! I don’t need _your_ help! Marianne!”

“I’m right here,” Marianne said, her jacket shimmering with the sprinkling rain, “with my tiny, sensitive ears so there is no need to _bellow_.”

“Sorry, sorry. Things have happened. I need you to watch Gwill.”

With great care and delicate balance, Roderick unfolded his forefoot and set a box down next to Marianne. The box giggled.

“Where is Adeline?” Marianne asked, bending over the box to shelter it from the rain. Bog twisted his neck to see what was inside and snatched a glimpse of yellow hair.

“Can’t talk.” Roderick shuffled around on his three legs, pointing himself back the way he’d come. He gave the box a tap with his nose. The box giggled again. “Thing happening. Mum visiting. I wasn’t here. Tell Bog about Gwill if you have to. Thanks!”

Bog squinted his eyes at the sprinkling of water caused by Roderick’s launch back into the air. He had no idea what was going on but it was undoubtedly going to be troublesome. Anything that concerned Roderick was troublesome. Anything that concerned Roderick’s _mother_ was troublesome and concerning.

Raising an eyebrow, Bog asked, “Would you care to enlighten me, princess? That is, if you have any light to cast on Roderick’s latest mischief.”

“Only a glimmering.” Marianne said, picking up the box.

Taking a closer look Bog thought that maybe the box was actually a basket. It had a blanket thrown over it so it was hard to be certain.

“I can at least venture to say that I’m stuck playing nanny for the day.”

“Elaborate?”

Marianne pulled the blanket up so Bog could see inside the basket. A tiny, pink face looked out at him.

“That is a–”

“That is a baby.” Marianne agreed. “A baby that I hope eats solid food.”

* * *

By the time it was discovered that the baby would happily eat any amount of stewed fruit and a necessary change of diaper was completed Marianne had told what she knew of Adeline and Gwill’s–or William’s–story.

Bog sighed. “Somehow this is just _typical_ of Roderick. A princess that’s not a princess and a baby with two names.”

“Are you going to do anything about it?” Marianne was sitting with her feet propped on the table while she looked through a book that had been tucked in the basket. It was discovered to be Adeline’s notes on taking care of William, written for the benefit of Roderick. Reading over Marianne’s shoulder Bog could see the word “DON’T” repeated multiple times in a page, always capitalized and underlined.

William was playing with some wooden spoons. Well, gnawing on the handles, mostly. Bog was making himself a wall between the baby and the more hazardous areas of the kitchen. The tiny thing was somehow even more distressingly adorable than Marianne’s sister had been. Bog feared that if he touched the thing it would break, but he also felt a deep desire to protect it.

“Hmph. No. I won’t interfere. They’re doing no harm, expect perhaps to disgrace useless traditions. Besides, they seem to be keeping him in check, to a degree.”

“Good.” Marianne turned a page, “Because I would have argued for Adeline’s sake. She’s had enough troubles.”

“If you’d opposed my decision I would have surely backed down,” Bog chuckled. “For the sake of my own life and limb.”

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Marianne said loftily. “You don’t suppose there’s any sort of real trouble going on with Roderick right now?”

“I imagine he’s just scurrying to hide his secrets after a surprise visit from Spruce.”

Bog frowned. Since the last trial for the kingship Spruce had practically disowned Roderick. She held the opinion that if Roderick had put his mind to it he could have become king instead of Bog and it was only through his own disinterest that he failed the trial. Now it appeared she had come to call on her son after all, close on the heels of a visit with three wizards …

“Marianne.”

“Mm?”

“Marianne, it’s chewing on me.”

“He’s teething.”

“Yes, but he’s doing it on _me_.”

“I don’t see what I can do about it.”

“Make it … stop?”

“But … what if he cries? I don’t know how to make that stop if he starts.”

“Isn’t there anything in the book?”

“The chapter on teething isn’t finished.”

They watched William chew on Bog’s claw for a few minutes.

“I mean,” Marianne said, “do you have anywhere to be?”

“No … but … I want my foot back … it’s _mine_.”

Marianne closed the book and slipped off her chair and onto the floor next to William. “Alright, let’s see if I’m more appetizing. Hi! Hi! Come and torture me now!”

William giggled and scooted over her, releasing Bog. He quickly tucked his feet away with a sign of relief. Imagine if he had sneezed with the baby hanging onto him. He had never felt so dangerous. Marianne scooped up the baby and sat down so she could lean on Bog’s side.

“You smell like rain,” she said.

“Damp and unpleasant?”

“Fresh and pleasant.”

Really, there had to be a word to describe how Marianne looked to him. If he could find that word then perhaps he could find some understanding about what he felt. Yet he was afraid that if he understood it everything might vanish. He was stressed, overworked, plagued by Roderick, wizards, and babies, and he was happy. Marianne was there and he was happy.

it was strange


	16. Griselda Arrives With Many Unwanted Gifts

“Son! You’ll never guess what I picked up on the way home!”

A voice sawed its way through the walls of the cave and chewed up Marianne’s ears. She clapped her hands over her ears and hurried to check on Gwill, who had been napping in his basket. Who was _still_ napping in his basket, completely peaceful.

The door burst open and a dragon bustled into the room. Marianne was familiar with bustling. Princesses did not indulge in bustling but any amount of handmaidens and servants at the castle had been well-practiced in the art and Marianne could identify it at a glance.

Several parcels were flung about the room. Some squashed. Some clinked. One came close to smacking Bog in the face. He caught it. Then he caught another one before it hit Marianne.

“ _Mother_. Indoor voice. _Please_.”

“Is that any way to say hello to your mother after she’s been away?”

Marianne looked at the dragon.

She looked at Bog.

If the two were related she certainly couldn’t see it. Bog was built entirely out of sharp angles and spikes. This supposed mother was round and squat with an amphibious sort of look to her. Her stubby toes were webbed, for example, and her scales were small, giving her hide a smoother look than Bog’s.

There was a faint smell of fish.

“It is how I’m going to say hello if you insist on rupturing my princess’s ears!” Bog huffed.

“Oooh!” the dragon’s voice dropped to a rasping rumble. “How silly of me to forget! Especially considered what I picked up–”

“Mother, why is your luggage in my cave.”

“Oh, I had to stop by here first and see how my little boy was getting on!” Bog’s mother gave him an affectionate head-butt, knocking a set of broken horns against his own horns.

“ _Mother_.”

“This must be your princess Marianne!” the dragon swooped down on Marianne with a smile so wide it was a marvel it fit on the dragon’s face. “I’m Griselda, lovely to meet you, sweet bite.”

Marianne let her overwhelmed mind go back and fell back on training and dropped a curtsy, “My pleasure, ma’am.”

“Do call me Griselda, dear. My, isn’t it cozy in here. I can see you’ve been taking care of my boy.”

“I do my best,” Marianne murmured.

“But even so,” Griselda rounded on her son again, “if the lady wants to go you need to let her go.”

“Um?” Bog and Marianne asked in baffled unison.

“Sweet bite, I met your young man on the way here and he told me all about everything and, son, I have to say you’re being selfish. I know I told you you ought to get a princess but you have to be fair and let her be rescued if she wants to be. That’s how these things work.”

“ _Excuse me_?!” Bog and Marianne exchanged glances after speaking in unison again.

“My young _what_?” Marianne continued.

“He was quite down in the dumps, dear,” Griselda nodded, “you shouldn’t play hard to get. Well, not _so_ hard to get. I understand that you’ve got to let them feel like they’ve worked hard but you’ve got to help them out a bit too.”

“He is _not_ my anything!” Marianne said with absolute firmness, “he–he’s a leech! I don’t want him!”

“No?” Griselda blinked beady brown eyes, “Isn’t this just a lover’s spat, then?”

“No!”

“Oh. Dear. Hm. Well, would you mind at least hearing the poor thing out? I’ve already invited him in, so–”

“Mother, you _didn’t_ –”

Roland pushed his way out from behind Griselda, his armor scraping the wall as he edged his way around. He smiled a brilliant smile on his face and his eyes carefully set on Marianne and no one else. “Darling!”

There was a scramble. Several of the parcels were thrown around the room again, claws gouged the floor, Roland’s armor screeched on the wall. At the end of it Bog had Roland pinned to the wall and Marianne had the tip of her sword pointed at Roland’s throat.

Bog was breathing out furious black clouds of smoke. Marianne wasn’t altogether sure she wasn’t doing the same. Roland was in the cave. He was in her home. This was _her_ place. A place untouched by memories of him and he dared to come and put his armored footprints all over it. Maybe if she cut his throat and let Bog eat him the first and last memory of Roland in her home would be a satisfying one.

“Yes,” Griselda sighed, “the lady says no. _Emphatically_. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to go, young man.”

“Sweetpea,” Roland said, looking down the blade of Marianne’s sword, “why don’t you be sensible and we can–”

Bog bared his teeth and poured smoke over Roland’s face. “It’s getting toward dinner, isn’t it? I’m feeling like a bite to tide me over …”

Marianne set her teeth and tried to think of a reason to stop Bog from eating Roland. None came to mind.

“Please try not to make a mess, son,” Griselda said, gathering up her parcels.

“Spruce!” Roland gasped, “I’m a guest of Spruce!”

Roland’s armor creaked when Bog’s grip tightened. “ _What_?”

“I was visiting Spruce and just wanted to drop by and see my buttercup for old time’s sake! Really ought to be getting back! Promised to be back in time to greet the other guests!”

“Oh, that’s right,” Griselda looked up from her task, “I met him coming from Spruce’s cave. I suppose if you ate him she would consider it very rude.”

It took a great effort for Marianne to lower her sword. She couldn’t be so happily foolish as to insult a dragon by murdering their guest. It would be a silly thing to do. Bog only loosened his grip when Marianne answered his inquiring look with a nod. He released another cloud of smoke over Roland, snapped his teeth together, and swiped the knight toward the door.

William took this moment to let loose a fretful wail.

Being the only one in the room equipped to deal with a human child, Marianne sheathed her sword and hurried over to pick William up. “Hey, hey, don’t worry, the canned leech is just leaving.”

“Um.” Roland said eloquently.

“Don’t be stupid,” Marianne snapped, “Gwill was born before I even came here. I’m babysitting. I believe Bog was about to show you out?”

Bog set his feet down by Roland hard enough to make the knight’s armor rattle.

“I’ll–I’ll call again when you aren’t so … occupied.” Roland clanked a bow, brushed back his hair, and clattered out of the cave.

“So!” Griselda clapped her forefeet together, “Tell me all the news! What’s been happening while I was gone?”


	17. An Unexpected Thought Occurs to Marianne

As the sun was setting Gwill began to grow fretful.

Marianne couldn’t blame him. She too felt like tipping over a bowl of mashed carrots and throwing a spoon at someone. Gwill had taken the day in stride but he wanted Adeline and Roderick. Neither Marianne nor Bog were acceptable substitutes. Which was why Marianne had mashed carrots in her hair.

“Give me the little nibble,” Griselda said, cooing over Gwill’s basket, “I know all there is to know about settling babies.”

“You know all there is to know about settling _dragon_ babies,” Bog corrected, “I don’t dispute that. But I was never that small or squashy. You’re only asking for trouble if you try and settle him with any method I recall you using.”

In the end Marianne handled Gwill while Griselda hovered close and shoveled on the motherly advice in-between interrogating Marianne about her background and Bog’s recent comings and goings. Somewhere in all that Griselda found time to unpack a heap of souvenirs and embarrassing stories about Bog’s youth. If Marianne’s thoughts weren’t buzzing with the implications of Roland’s friendship with Spruce she might have been gleefully teasing Bog about Griselda referring to him as her “sweet little mossy frog”.

Neither Adeline nor Roderick seemed to be coming to retrieve Gwill. Roderick had been eager to hide Gwill from his mother but now Roland had seen the baby. Did it matter? Would Roland even think to connect the baby to Roderick? Marianne wished she had had time to stash Gwill away when Roland came, just in case, but once he started crying there was no helping Roland seeing him. Maybe Marianne should have claimed Gwill was hers, after all.

Marianne and Gwill slept in Bog’s room. Being tucked up near a dragon seemed to soothe them both.

“They’re after your throne, I suppose?” Marianne asked Bog after Gwill had drifted off into a reluctant sleep.

“Yes. Spruce is from an old mountain family with a king or two perched on the family tree. Having me, a half-breed cousin from a lesser branch, become king over her son …”

“So pushing you off the throne and shoving Roderick onto it is only putting things right, in her opinion?”

“If she could she would have the second I completed the trial. Such a hush over everyone in the clearing that day, I almost thought she would just get rid of me then and there and restart the trials.”

“Get rid of you?”

“Kill me. You only stop being king of the dragons when you’re dead.”

Marianne was no stranger to political intrigues and the idea that Spruce might be considering assassinating Bog had indeed occurred to her. She just hadn’t know that it was the sole method that could successfully remove Bog from Roderick’s way to the throne. Human usurpers usually explored more civilized options of removing the competition before resorting to regicide.

Two stray thoughts collided with each other in Marianne’s head and sparked off a horrible realization.

“Bog, those wizards were gathering dragonsbane and they’re visiting Spruce …”

“Yes, I know.”

“But, you see, I had forgotten, but … there were rumors that Roland had a wizard, maybe several wizards, in his pocket … Bog, those wizards must be the same ones Adeline and I met. If you died by the hands of a knight–hands maybe carrying a bit of dragonsbane–then Spruce gets you out of the way, leaving the throne clear for Roderick to take another shot at it and I would be expected …”

The thought of losing Bog and being dragged back to marry Roland cut off Marianne’s breath. The dim room swam in front of her eyes and whatever Bog was saying in response to her theory was drowned out by a sudden ringing in her ears.

Claws formed a cage around her and Marianne was moved from her cushion, pulled up to Bog’s chest. She gasped and started breathing again, her fingers gripping the warm scales she was drawn up against.

“Not my princess, he isn’t.” Bog growled. “Until she says otherwise she stays right here.”

Marianne’s heart gave a flip. Something in the way Bog spoke with fierce sincerity made her stomach fill with tickling butterflies. She liked his rumbling voice that resonated in her bones. She liked how he made her feel safe without making her feel trapped. Heavy claws lay on her back like the comfort of a heavy blanket.

It was a night for realizations. They came hurtling out of the dizzying whirl of disjointed thoughts, seemingly at random, but always striking true. The latest one made her laugh in hysterical happiness that was just a side-step from overwhelmed crying.

She liked Bog. Tremendously. If she pushed the train of thought a little further she would have to clarify that she …

That she loved him.

Marianne, a human princess sitting in the middle of a web of murderous conspiracy, was in love with the king of the dragons. It was ridiculous. It was hilarious. Or would have been, if Marianne didn’t suddenly feel like that was a cold, heavy stone sitting on her chest.

It was all too much and Marianne was too tired to talk some sense into herself. She pulled up her blanket and snuggled down into Bog’s protective touch.

“She stays,” Marianne closed her eyes and sighed, “She stays right here.”


	18. A Princess is Not So Silly As She Seemed

Marianne sighed and added more ground black pepper to the batch of gingersnaps she was mixing up.

It had been a day for melancholy sighing. Marianne’s shoulders drooped. All her energy was focused on thinking, sparing only enough to allow her to stir the cookie dough. To be more precise, Marianne was focused on not thinking about certain things while she read herself a lecture about the silliness of princesses and how she was the silliest of all because she had walked into trouble with her eyes wide open.

But, she argued with herself, she couldn’t have foreseen that she would develop feelings for a dragon. If Bog had been a prince turned into a frog or hideous beast, yes she would have been wary of the danger. A dragon was a different matter. Their role was of the monster, the captor. They weren’t supposed to be kind and funny and supportive. Above all they weren’t supposed to have beautiful blue eyes that looked at you with warm admiration and genuine understanding.

Gwill made a noise that might have been an imitation of a dragon’s growl and chomped fiercely on the edges of his basket. He had been discontented ever since he woke up and found that he still had to deal with the poor substitutes Marianne and Bog made for his mother and Roderick. He had fussed all through breakfast and ended up wearing more than he ate. Both he and Marianne were feeling frayed around the edges after that ordeal.

“I wonder if I ought to visit Adeline,” Marianne said, spooning mustard powder into the mixing bowl. 

“You’ll kill that knight and start a scandal,” Bog pointed out.

“I don’t suppose you could go?”

“I’ve never willingly visited Roderick in my life. If I wing over there they’ll suspect I’m playing an angle.”

Marianne nodded and tasted the cookie dough. It was strong enough to make her eyes water. She needed to check on Adeline by whatever means she could contrive without alerting the enemy. She also needed a pretext for leaving the cave and find some solitude to aid a measure of deep pondering. It wasn’t practical to avoid looking at Bog indefinitely. It would have been a comfort if Dawn was there to talk things over with. As it was Marianne had started a letter to her on the subject but had gotten no farther than penning a vague greeting.

Once the cookies were in the oven Marianne washed her hands and took off her apron. Making herself look Bog in the face, she said, “Can you take those out in a few minutes? And watch Gwill for about an hour?”

“Perhaps.” Bog looked at Gwill. Gwill bared his teeth. “If your reasons merit abandoning me to his mercy.”

replied“I need to take some flowers and cookies and make a call on the other princesses.”

“You’re running off to have tea? _Now_?”

Bog’s teasing was making Marianne’s cheeks warm up. “It’s–it’s not–I’m going to ask them to check on Adeline! I’m not going to go mincing off to have a tea party.”

“I wasn’t judging.”

Marianne threw her apron in Bog’s face and stormed off to her room to change.

When Marianne got to Journa’s cave she found that Gloriana was already there, which conveniently meant that Marianne would be spared a second trip. Less convenient was that the princesses were entertaining a guest.

The guest was a tiny woman with silver-white hair and a tiara of silver and blue gems. Marianne at first took her for another princess. But there was a coating of glittering dust over the guest’s chair and nearby floor. It was Aura. She was looking human, but there was no doubt it was the self-proclaimed fairy godmother.

“Hello, dear! Lovely to see you again.”

“Aura …” Marianne sat down and accepted a cup of tea from Journa as graciously as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “How unexpected to find you here.”

“It is only to be expected, truly. Captive princesses are particularly in need of my unique services. Keeping up appearances while languishing in a damp cave is a difficult task. So harsh on the skin.”

There was an array of tiny crystal bottles on the table. Gloriana was dabbing the contents of one on the back of her hand. Journa was peering at a piece of paper with very fine print on it.

“I’m disappointed that you haven’t stopped by to see me,” Marianne smiled, “of all the ladies present I am surely the one who needs the most help keeping up appearances.”

“You’re too modest,” Gloriana said with great condescension, “once you clean yourself up you look perfectly presentable.”

“Considering the difference of opinion between your captor and I …” Aura said delicately, “Well, I rather thought he would rather not have me associating with his princess. Now that you’re here, though, you can commission anything you like and I can arrange to have it discreetly delivered.”

“How kind of you. Have you called on Adeline yet?”

“It was my intention to stop there next.”

“I would advise against calling at present,” Marianne said, trying not to sound like she was about to panic. She did not want to give Roland an opportunity to commission anything from Aura. “Roderick is entertaining family and has been most occupied. I know Roderick would not mind you visiting, but I’ve heard his mother is most particular.”

“I see, thank you, your highness. Perhaps I might leave this small informational booklet with you ladies to pass on to her? Please point out this marked page to her. I feel that she could use some color in her face.”

Marianne considered excusing herself and running back home to inform Bog that Aura was nearby. But she might be suspicious of Marianne leaving only minutes after arriving and flee.

“How should I tell Adeline she can contact you?” Marianne asked, taking the booklet.

“I’ll be around in a week at the same time,” Aura said, “Now do give me your hands, dear, and let me show you something that will make that dry skin completely _vanish_!”

A short time later Aura herself vanished after tossing an airy farewell over her shoulder. Marianne hated letting the creature out of her sight. At least there was the small comfort that it would be a week before she had to worry about Aura again. Gloriana also took her leave, bearing away with her an armful of crystal bottles. This left Marianne and Journa alone to make polite conversation.

Journa had a smaller collection of crystal bottles and carefully tucked them away in a drawer. Bending over to shut the drawer her black braids fell over her shoulders. Each braid was tipped with a silver leaf and when she tossed back her hair there was a genteel jangle of the ornaments clinking against each other. For a moment Marianne thought she looked sad.

“How has your knight problem been?” Journa asked, a little sharply. Adeline was right about the other princesses not being pleased with Marianne’s allegedly good fortune with rescuers.

“Thing have been peaceful lately,” Marianne said demurely, “and yourself?”

“Oh, the same. Very peaceful. There hasn’t been anyone since … yes. Peaceful.”

“Adeline mentioned something about the last knight losing rather badly. I suppose that makes it difficult, your dragon having a fearsome reputation.” Marianne was wondering if she could get a few tips for spreading Bog’s reputation. However, on hearing this innocuous remark Journa’s face fell.

“Yes, the knight is still recovering from his wounds.”

“It must be hard, waiting.”

Journa looked sadder. “Yes.”

“I’m … I’m sure that a worthy man will come along soon.”

Journa was looking downright sorrowful. “May I ask … you truly do send away the knights and princes who come to free you?”

“Yes?”

“How … how do you go about it?”

“Beg pardon?”

“I know it’s arrogant of me to assume that more will come to challenge my captor, but if any were to and I were to take a dislike to them … what might be the proper way to turn them away?”

Marianne thought of throwing pepper in Roland’s face and rolling him down the mountain. That was probably not what Journa meant by ‘turn away’.

“Um, any gentleman in particular you wish to decline?”

“No, it is not that I have a particular objection to anyone, it is really more the opposite. The knight who fell in battle with my dragon captor …”

“Oh, you wanted _that_ knight to win.”

“Yes, you are correct. While his wounds heal I worry that another might come and rescue me and I would be obliged to take them. I’m in need of a way to prevent that from coming to pass.”

“Well, I could help you with that, though my methods are no doubt a little rough for your taste. But if I were you I would just leave and go take care of your knight.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Leave. Run away. Marry your knight.”

“That isn’t how things are done!” the leaves in Journa’s hair clinked with indignation.

“Didn’t your knight already try to do the done thing? What’s to say he doesn’t lose again the next time?”

“It isn’t _proper_! We must do it the proper way or my parents will never recognize him!”

Journa’s princessly glamor was wearing thin and Marianne felt it was acceptable to continue speaking frankly. A good dose of sense was called for and in this case that meant throwing the rules out the window.

“Did you get captured by a dragon so your knight could prove himself and win your hand?”

Journa’s tragic face answered Marianne’s question.

“Have you thought about going on a quest?”

“A quest?”

“Yes. Your true love has been laid low by wounds he received in a valiant attempt to save you. Wouldn’t it be only natural for you to be moved by his devotion and seek out a cure for his wounds? I’m sure there’s a healing spring of some sort in the forest at the foot of the mountains. There usually is. I can ask around for you, if you like. Anyway, I would suggest putting on some sturdy traveling shoes and setting out on a quest.”

The look of astonishment on Journa’s face was comical. “I could … go on a quest for him?”

“It’s quite proper, I think. There has been a princess or two who have gone on journeys for their husbands or sweethearts. Sometimes it requires traveling until you wear out three pairs of iron shoes, but I don’t think that it’s necessary in this case.”

Journa stood up, her hair sparkling at the tips. “I need to pack.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Would you do me a favor and take this booklet to Adeline and see how she’s doing? I’ve heard that Roderick’s mother is demanding and I’m worried she’ll wear Adeline out with errands. I’d go myself but I must get back.”

“Yes, I’ll go right away. I know Adeline has some walking shoes and she’s my size …“

Marianne left, brushing sparkles off her skirt. She had solved the problem of contacting Adeline but had gained a new problem with the reappearance of Aura. Really, if it wasn’t one thing it was another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aura = Avon Lady
> 
> you know it to be true


	19. An Unexpected Thought Occurs to Bog

Bog twiddled his claws over Gwill’s basket. For some reason the baby found this amusing and happily grabbed at Bog’s claws with chubby little hands.

With Marianne off on her mission Bog was unable to keep himself on task with his work. When she was there it was easier to hide himself behind the busy work of ruling since it was a valid justification for avoiding looking her in the eye. Now that she was gone Bog found himself staring off into the distance, imagining her face while he wished she would hurry up and return. He would come back to himself with a start, realizing he had been awash in a sea of rosy pink clouds.

It was horrible.

After Aura’s accidental release Bog had been chewing over the old memories that surrounded her. It was an unpleasant mouthful, recalling what a giddy fool he had been, and that cloud of pretty pink lies that he had sprinkled from the bottle of love potion. Now he found himself wrapped up in fluffy pink clouds once more and it made his stomach twist itself into complicated knots.

Logical thinking made connections that made no sense at all. He remembered having similar fluttery feelings about the sweet, pretty dragon he had been enamored with to the point of lunacy. Now he was experiencing those feelings again in connection to Marianne. The natural conclusion to be drawn was that …

Bog shook himself all over, flaring his wings and raising his crest, then settled everything back down again. The natural conclusion was absurd and impossible.

There was not the slightest possibility that he was in love.

Marianne was a tiny human princess. There wasn’t a single point about her that was could be remotely considered attractive by the standards of a dragon. She was just … just … tiny. A tiny, neat figure that hauled around dessert buckets half her size, one in each hand, told off dragons for smoking inside the cave, fiercely protected those she cared about, and was the only creature Bog had ever met who could get the right flavor in gingersnaps.

Bog shook himself again.

It was impossible. Marianne was not in the least bit pretty but yet he kept thinking she was beautiful. That was the word he had been rummaging about for, beautiful. It made no sense at all and felt perfectly right.

Gwill whined when Bog ate another gingersnap without sharing.

“It’ll take your head clean off,” Bog mumbled, flicking his claws to distract the baby. He wished he himself was as easily distracted. Marianne had been gone for an unbearable length of time. He had a queasy hope that she would be back soon, even if the sight of her was going to make him want to self-combust. Maybe there was a chance that Spruce would assassinate him before Marianne returned and spare him the suffering.

“There’s a slight complication.”

Bog shook away the sparkling pink clouds that had gathered on him again and swung around to greet Marianne. The sparkles were stubborn and Marianne was still shimmering with them.

“I saw Aura.”

Bog snorted in surprise that the sparkles were not a product of his overwrought brain. “What? Where?”

Marianne pulled off her crown, tied a handkerchief over her hair, and rolled up her sleeves before placing another tray of gingersnaps into the oven. She wiped her hands on the apron hanging off the back of a chair and sat down to relate her tale.

The news of Aura resurfacing set Bog on edge, but while watching Marianne talk his thoughts began to unravel and flutter away. It was just … being near her, watching her face, listening to her talk, it all made him so happy … he just really loved it.

He thumped his tail on the floor. Gwill tried to escape his basket so he could chase it.

It was true.

Bog loved Marianne.

That was … probably not good.


	20. In Which It All Starts To Fall Apart

In the afternoon Journa came to Bog’s cave carrying a note from Roderick.

She handed it off to Marianne, shouldered a sturdy pack, and walked briskly toward the exit at the foot of the mountain. Her braids were gathered into a knot at the top of her head and stuck through with a silver hairpin that gleamed as Marianne watched her go.

The note was on a stiff piece of folded paper adorned with one of Roderick’s feathers fixed under a splash of sealing wax. Bog plucked the feather off, rolling his eyes. “His own personal touch. He’s been doing that since we were scarcely more than hatchlings.”

The feather was passed off to Gwill. He chortled and brandished it like a flag.

“Does it say anything about Adeline?” Marianne wished Journa had paused long enough to answer a few questions.

“No particulars. It asks for me to come see him. Urgently. That may indicate anything from trouble of a grave nature to Roderick simply wanting to show off some new idiocy.”

“I’m inclined to err on the side of caution.”

“Yes. His attachment to Adeline and Gwill is uncharacteristically sincere. He would have been here long ago, if he could, disparaging us for our incompetence in dealing with babies. It says here that Spruce and her interesting little party will be leaving briefly.”

“Good. You should hurry.” Marianne said, keeping back her thought that Roland might be planning another visit and it would be inconvenient if that coincided with Bog’s absence.

“I’ll have my mother come over here. If any wizards wander in she wouldn’t mind an evening snack.”

“I can take care of myself,” Marianne said in mock-protest. She was feeling a little fluttery over the fact that Bog had perceived her uneasiness of being left alone. She felt as transparent as glass.

“It’s the wizards I worry for. Being eaten is far kinder than anything you might do to them.”

Marianne shoved his head away from her. Bog chuckled and nudged her in retaliation. Marianne was aiming to poke him in the eye when Griselda popped in. Marianne and Bog shuffled a few paces away from each other and tried to look composed.

“Mother!” Bog scratched his neck, “Good … good timing. I was hoping you might stay with Marianne and Gwill for a bit.”

Griselda squinted her tiny eyes at her son but agreed readily to his request.

“Be careful,” Marianne said as Bog left, “Try not to kill Roderick.”

Bog swiped his tail back and forth and shot Marianne a toothy grin over his wing, “I promise nothing.”

Turning away from waving Bog off Marianne nearly ran into Griselda’s blunt snout. The scrutinizing look Griselda was giving her was off-putting. It was a magnified version of looks on the faces of her family and tutors whenever Marianne had stepped out of line and done something that was Not Done.

A moment later the look disappeared off Griselda’s face and she stumped off to deliver a doting grin to Gwill. She cheerfully accepted a plate of gingersnaps, even complimenting Marianne on them before embroiling her in decorating the cave with knick-knacks brought back from her visit home. From all that Marianne knew of Griselda the dragon was acting just as usual.

“What are you intentions toward my son?”

The question was launched at Marianne just as she was taking a sip of the cider that Griselda had brought with her. It was excellent cider, even if it almost went up Marianne’s nose. She wasn’t sure why the question startled her. Truly, it was more puzzling than anything else.

“I-I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve know a few princesses in my time. The only reason they put up with being a dragon’s princess is because it’s an investment for their future. A good way to find a worthy young man and jaunt off at the first opportunity.”

“That is not at all why–”

“Then there’s _you_. Volunteering to be here. Sending off suitors with a flea in their ear and nearly a dagger in their side. Getting cozy with my boy. What exactly are you up to, your highness?”

Her training failed her and Marianne was at a loss for words. In truth she herself didn’t know what she was up to. Beyond getting away from Roland and her stifling life at home she had not thought of the future. The unexpected development of developing feelings for the king of the dragons had only served to throw her future into further obscurity. It all begged the question of how long she could remain here, in what she now considered her home. Could she just stay and live under the pretense that she felt no more for Bog than their initial friendship? The idea made her heart turn cold and ache.

“It’s simply that–that I’m a very poor at being a proper princess so I looked for something to do that … suited me.”

“Mm. It was my idea, you know, for my boy to get himself a princess. I thought he should take more of an interest in doing things the proper way. Now I’m not so sure. He seemed to like you. Maybe too much.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. We get along very well, but no more than could be expected. It’s just that a princess who can make gingersnaps and read Latin happens to suit him. That he lets me be such a princess suits me. So we get along. Very well.”

“Hmmmm.” Griselda’s mouth was curved downward. Marianne wondered if she should be worried about being eaten.

“I really don’t intend to do anything more than continue as I’ve been.”

Griselda hummed again. “My boy is sensitive you know. He acts tough and prickly but he gets hurt real easy. Alright, maybe you’re being honest about being his friend. What happens when a fellow comes along and you take a fancy to him? Will you have your new fellow fight my son? Or will you just nip out and disappear without a word?”

“I would never do that! I mean, neither of things! I wouldn’t!”

“I want my boy to be happy and I’m not sure a friendship with a human is going to do that. Not for long. You’re too different.”

That was always the difficulty. Marianne was different. The world was set up a certain way and there were no places that would fit an improper princess. She might struggle and carve out a place for herself, but how long would the world allow her to keep it?

“I don’t want to be anywhere but here. I wouldn’t do anything to bring Bog pain! Not for some silly knight, not for anyone or anything! He’s important to me, his happiness is important to me, I just want–”

To stay with him. To love him. Maybe it was impossible, but the honest truth was that was what she wanted.

Griselda was squinting at her again. Marianne dropped her eyes to hide her thoughts, which she was sure must be printed plainly across her face. Griselda must have caught a glimpse anyway.

“Oh dear, sweet bite. I’m afraid my Bog isn’t a frog to be given a peck on the lips and get you a handsome prince.”

Scorching heat rose into Marianne’s face. To be exposed and misunderstood at the same time was dreadful. Denials of the accusation got tangled up in the truth.

“That isn’t–! I-I–I just–!”

“You’re in the wrong fairytale, dear. It would be best if you accepted that.”

* * *

Bog had a headache.

The cause was undoubtedly the time he had spent in the excruciating company of his cousins. They fluttered around their usual topics of conversation, hurtling insults dressed in the flimsy guise of neutral observations at Bog. Roderick was subdued, remarkably, leaving the brunt of the abusing to Spruce and her daughters. There was no subtle way of bringing up the subject of Adeline and the princess herself was nowhere to be seen. In the end Bog had to take his leave without fulfilling the actual purpose of his visit.

Roderick’s note saying to hurry over while he was alone. Roderick’s exasperating need for drama. Whatever errand that might have taken Spruce and her daughters from the cave had obviously fallen through and Bog was the one to suffer for it. He was of half a mind to take Gwill and dump him back on Roderick’s doorstep without a word.

Gwill greeted Bog’s return with a disappointed snarl. Bog snarled back. Gwill was unimpressed.

Marianne received the lack of news with a tired shrug. “If the refreshments were as good as the company … you likely want a snack.”

“”I turned a coffee mug in my claws until the temptation to smash it on Roderick’s face grew too strong and I had to put it down.”

“If you’d thrown it you wouldn’t have a headache now. Keeping all that frustration in just stews your brain.”

Bog agreed. His eyes were prickling and his feet hurt from clenching at the underside of the table. All he seemed to be doing of late was run in circles and do no one any good. Now Marianne was drifting around the cave in a strange, detached way that worried him. Then again, spending an afternoon with his mother might do that to anyone. But … she looked so tired.

“I see my mother has been redecorating.” Bog flicked a gaudy china trinket off the table. The sound of it breaking soothed his temper but aggravated his headache.

Marianne gave him a look that said she knew how he felt but she was going to be the one stuck cleaning up and that limited her sympathy.

Bog smashed another trinket.

“I’ll tell Griselda you did that on purpose.”

“You stabbed me the day we met and you’ve stabbed me every day since, in one way or another.”

“It’s the only language you understand.”

“By all signs it’s the local dialect. It’ll be what I use on Roderick if he doesn’t make a start at tidying up this mess.”

“Don’t grind your teeth.”

“So sorry to bother you, your highness.”

“I was thinking it would make your headache worse.”

It was certainly of no help. Sparkles of light were trying to blind him and he had to slit his eyes almost closed. Marianne’s face was white. White enough that it was hard for him to look at. Something was worrying at her. He flicked a claw and gently grazed her shoulder. She smiled and batted him away. But her smile dropped and she looked odd.

When the weather grew chill Bog would return from his swimming with an icy ache gnawing beneath his scales. He felt like that now. Marianne was lovely beyond words and she was beyond his reach. He had no gentle human touch to pull her back with. No way to hold her that wasn’t merely trapping her in his claws. His love could only be distasteful to her.

All he wanted was for her to stay forever.

Now he was starting to believe that his headache was more a mix of a migraine and a bad heartache. The lights were harsh on his eyes. The soft noise of Marianne’s footsteps trampled his ears. Strangely there was a terrible pain in his forefoot, a symptom inconsistent with either heartache or headache. Uncurling his claws he saw a stain, like a dark, purplish bruise. Tiny veins of purple spread between his scales.

Dragonsbane. It had to be dragonsbane poisoning. Somehow they had finally gotten him. Spruce and her tribe.

“M-Mari?” Now his voice was catching in his dry throat. The fierce, beautiful princess turned those brown eyes on him and he knew that the sharp ache in his chest had nothing to do with the dragonsbane.

“Bog? What’s wrong? You look dreadful!”

“More than usual?” Why was he wasting breath on banter? Maybe because such candid teasing made him feel closer to Marianne. Maybe it was all he would ever have of her, their silly to and fro. “Unless Roderick somehow got into it too, there’s a jar in the treasure room …”

He wasn’t sure how much more he managed to say out loud. Marianne was on a chair, looking over his poisoned limb that was resting on the table. She touched the stain and her cool skin made him realize there was a fevered heat  of sickness under his hide.

She was talking. Calm. Sensible. Perfect. He wouldn’t change a thing about her. If only he could change himself.

There was a sickly taste of medicine in his mouth and after a bit Bog decided he would sleep for a little while.


	21. Bog Has Doubts and Marianne Gets To Work

Maybe she was too perfect.

The first princess, the sweet princess, had been easily obtained. So easily that it might even have been suspicious. Then it was immediately evident that the sweet princess would not suit and immediately a new princess, a fierce princess, appeared to take her place. The fierce princess wormed her way into the confidence of the dragon king, taking advantage of his lonely heart and susceptible nature.

Bog could hear his mother fussing somewhere nearby. Tatters of conversation blew by, one or two bright and clear. A remark about medicine. Thang fretting in the other room. Once Bog felt Gwill patting his nose. Once Bog was sure he heard Aura’s voice and he forced his eyes open. There was a bottle. It was wrapped in threads of magic. It was being passed into Marianne’s hands.

Yes, perhaps Princess Marianne was far too good to be true.

Bog writhed his way in and out of wakefulness, coughing up smoke and tasting honey on his tongue. Marianne was looking after him with all of her characteristic efficiency. Vats of soup and honey tea. Cool cloths laid on his throbbing forefoot.

They had finally managed to lay Bog low. How Spruce had done it, Bog was unsure. He had taken neither food nor drink during his visit and showed no signs of illness until he had been long at home. Dragonsbane showed its effects directly after coming in contract with a dragon, it did not wait. Only one person was close enough to the king of the dragons to have an opportunity to do him real harm.

What was in the concoctions Marianne poured down his throat? Were they tainted with Aura’s potions? He was helpless enough that she could do whatever she pleased. Fear and suspicion crowded into his unclear thoughts and seeped into his dreams. Half the time he wasn’t sure if the nightmares were just nightmares or only badly recalled realities.

He loved her, the fierce princess. But why, how, could a dragon fall in love with a princess? It was ridiculously improbable.

Aura was free.

When had these feelings started? Before or after her release? He couldn’t be sure. Had he been played? As subtly as a violin so that he never even realized the manipulation? The feelings he had, they might all be lies, every single beautiful, painful feeling. The little bit of happiness might not be his.

Bottles. Bottles brimming over with magic that swirled with false realities.

These dismal thoughts put Bog off the idea of getting well. That is, if he would be allowed to get well.

* * *

It worried Marianne, Bog’s listless mood. She couldn’t imagine that Spruce could have induced such defeat in him. There were two nights that Marianne had no time for anything except tending to Bog and worrying about him. By the third night news of the king’s ailment had spread and important dragons came to visit and pester Marianne to let them see the king. Doctors came and declared it to officially be dragonsbane that ailed the king and an investigation was launched. Marianne held her tongue about Spruce. There was no evidence and the word of a princess was worth nothing. She stated the facts and emphasized Spruce’s suspicious behavior without making any outright accusations.

The first real news was that Adeline had been imprisoned for suspicion of poisoning the king. Marianne dashed over to see her, armed with a basket of comforts and an attitude of sweet but stubborn stupidity that made the guards let her see Adeline just so Marianne would stop bothering them.

“Gwill is fine. Bog’s mother is looking after him while I’m here,” Marianne said as soon as she entered the cell, anticipating Adeline’s most pressing concerns. Adeline looked relieved, but only a little.

“They found out I’m not a princess but they don’t know about William. Not yet. Only Roland knows about him and it would only hurt his reputation if anyone else did. Thank goodness that he cares about that above everything else.”

“Except his hair.”

This got a smile out of Adeline.

Marianne paused. “What does Roland have to do with Gwill …?”

A sick nausea burned in Marianne’s stomach. Gwill had a father, after all. A unpleasant person, a horrible man that Adeline had hid from with such desperation.

“Roland is Gwill’s … father?” Assigning the title of father to Roland felt absurd. The idea of a father was of someone too caring to be anything like Roland. Adeline nodded. "You’ve been …” Adeline had been trapped in Roderick’s caves with Roland as a guest of honor. 

Marianne threw her arms around Adeline and hugged her fiercely. “If he touched you I’ll kill him. No, I’ll kill him anyway, he’s already done enough to deserve it.”

Adeline started to cry but continued with her story, shaking in Marianne’s arms. “Roland, he told Spruce I was a fake and they decided they could use that.

“But even if you’re not a real princess, why would you poison Bog? There’s no earthly reason to suspect you of that!”

“I’m supposed to have done it on someone else’s orders. Planted in Roderick’s care to try and shift the blame onto his family. Marianne, they’re going to say _you_  ordered me to do it!”

“ _Me_? That makes no–”

That made a lot of sense. Marianne had forced her way into the dragon king’s life. Adeline had hardly stirred from Roderick’s cave until Marianne came and then everything had started moving. A princess could have any number of reasons to compromise a foreign king, whether it be wealth or politics. Spruce would have little trouble inventing a plausible reason. After all, Marianne had shown time and time again that she was an improper princess. A princess who refused to do what was Done might be capable of breaking any rule she pleased.

“And they’re using me against Roderick too. I’m a hostage for his cooperation. But he didn’t know about the poison! He knew they were planning osmething, but neither of us knew anything until it was already done.”

“Forgive me, Adeline, I have to go. I’ll need to work quickly if I’m to counter Roland and Spruce. I’ll see that you’re released, I swear it.”

“Marianne, wait! It was the outside of the cup. They put poison on the outside of Bog’s cup, that’s how it was done. They didn’t really try not to talk around me. I don’t think that they plan … I don’t think I’m going to be given an opportunity to defend myself. Please, take care of William?”

“I’ll look after him and make sure no harm comes to him. But not a minute more than it takes to have you released.”

“Marianne, _please_ …”

“If necessary I can send him to my sister. She would find a family to take him in. But, Adeline, it isn’t going to be necessary!”

“Thank you, but … if you can, tell Roderick to do what he has to and not worry about me. He’s been so kind to me. I don’t want him hurt.”

It wasn’t going to be necessary. Marianne marched back home to make plans. None of Adeline’s worries were going to manifest as reality. Neither would her own fears. No matter what she had to do, she would see this all put right.

Even if she had to make use of Aura’s gift.


	22. Aura Gives Marianne a Gift of Dubious Nature

“What if things were different?”

That’s what people are always thinking about and always wishing for. If they were prettier, smarter, stronger, maybe it would shift the odds in their favor. If that one thing was different then everything else would fall right into place.”

Marianne was slow to take in anything Aura was saying. The creature had shown up during a vague time between Bog’s conscious moments when Marianne seized a chance to concoct more hot tea and maybe take a few winks of sleep. Aura’s sparkling aura was murder on the eyes.

“Yes,” Marianne said, “But why are you here?”

“Out of concern for the dear king, naturally! I’ve heard he had been afflicted with dragonsbane and I thought perhaps I might offer one of my simple potions.”

“How kind.” Marianne was so tired she was unthinkingly polite and did not call Aura a disgusting opportunist, “The doctors have already come and declared that there is little to do but wait, so I’m afraid potions aren’t of much use here.”

Aura waved a hand. “Maybe _their_ potions, my dear. They don’t think outside of their narrow little caves. No, no, what I have is not some supposed miracle cure or magical antidote. It’s something a little _different_.”

Marianne was heartily sick of the way the word “different” was spoken with an implication of wrongness..

When there was time Marianne would rest by Bog, stroking the back of his neck when he stirred. She would pull out the potion bottle Aura had pressed on her and consider the way the contents swirled even when the bottle itself was still. Aura was not to be trusted. But the idea of what the potion could do was painfully tempting. A little dusting of magic and everything would be _easy_. She wouldn’t be so different anymore.

“Or you could use it on your dear king,” Aura had suggested with a toss of her head, as if the idea were not fraught with questionable possibilities. Somehow Aura had perceived Marianne feelings about Bog. Or maybe Aura liked to pair people up and by coincidence had hit upon some truth. “The dragonsbane problem would be taken care of, guaranteed!”

That creature was insidious. Maybe she was working for Roland. There was a trick in somewhere. Marianne just couldn’t see it.

In the meantime Marianne set to work. She wrote down every detail of recent happenings, couching it in stiff formality in hopes that no one would think a hysterical princess imagining things would bother writing would write out her fictional drama in such dry terms. She forced her cramped hand to write it out twice. One copy she sent to Thang. The queen of the dragons was less than steady but his loyalty to Bog was unwavering. The second copy she addressed to Dawn along with a letter explaining Gwill’s circumstances and entrusted to a knight who had fortunately stopped by to rescue Marianne. Griselda was already plowing her way through the high-ranking dragons, basically grabbing them by the horns and demanding to know if they had any part in hurting her son. Marianne didn’t need to worry about convincing her.

Marianne had thoroughly quizzed the doctors about the jar Bog had requested before he passed out and was told it was most likely a potent healing potion that was hard to find. It wasn’t a cure for dragonsbane, but its virtue was strong enough to to be at least partially effective against anything. Marianne drew the conclusion that Spruce had not anticipated Bog receiving treatment in time to save his life. That meant they were likely stewing over the complication in their plan and hoping that Bog would eventually succumb to the poison.

Most of Mariannne’s writing was done on a lap desk while she leaned her back on Bog. He kept having fits of shivering that squiggled her writing. She would push the pillows closer and tuck him in as best she could. There was nothing she could really do to help the shaking. She wanted to hold him and let him borrow the steadiness of her arms, but she was just too small. Her insignificant weight would be tossed aside by a sudden jerk of his wings. Too tall, now too small. Only another dragon was really suited to the task.

* * *

Why didn’t she just leave?

Nearly ever time Bog passed near wakefulness he found Marianne still there. She persisted in displaying behavior that made it seem she was concerned for him and was working hard toward his recovery. Why didn’t she just leave him to waste away, or at least deliver the final dose of dragonsbane? And didn’t she ever _sleep_? He wanted to take her by the arm and give her a shove toward her room, telling her he wasn’t worth exhausting herself over.

At the same time he wanted her to never leave.

Even if his feelings were real, even if she wasn’t toying with him, even if she cared for him in return, what sort of life would they have? A princess needed a prince, not a spiked and scaled monster. Bog was, after all, only the beast that the hero slayed. If Marianne was not a proper princess, well, there had to be an improper prince out there that would suit her.

It occurred to Bog that had he been a human he would have certainly been an improper prince. Or king, that was. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t take her hand. He couldn’t even touch her without being afraid of harming her.

“They’re making preparations for holding the trials,” Marianne told him, scratching his neck.

A spark of irritation lit up in Bog. “I’m–” he coughed and smoked, “I’m not dead yet!” They might have had the decency to see him breathe his last before stepping over his corpse to claim the kingship.

Marianne’s hand stopped moving. “Are you awake?”

“I suppose.” He seemed to be recovering, regardless of his wishes. He was too uncomfortable to even think of trying to go back to sleep.

“How are you feeling?”

“ _Guess_.”

“I’m inquiring after specifics, your majesty. Are you thirsty? Hungry? Cold?”

“Miserable.”

“I should have known you’d be a difficult patient, seeing as you have no patience. I’ll make some tea and we can work from there.”

She got up and walked a few steps before she set her foot wrong and collapsed in a pillow. Bog snorted at her ungraceful tumble.

“Shut up.” She threw one of the smaller pillows at him, “Just shut up.”

Bog forced his sticky eyes open all the way. Marianne’s voice was thick and her faces was splotching with red. She was _crying_.

“What’s wrong?” Bog choked on smoke and surprise.

“I was worried about you!” Marianne said defiantly, “what do you _expect_?”

Bog hooked a claw into the pillow Marianne was sitting on and dragged it over. She had flipped her apron over her head and all he could see was her shaking shoulders. He didn’t know what to make of it.

“I’m sorry?” he offered.

Marianne snatched her apron off her face and stumbled to fall against his neck. “Then don’t ever do it again!” Then she was shaking too much to talk. Bog’s doubts didn’t exactly melt away, but there were very roughly shoved aside.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry …”

I love you. Please don’t cry. It hurts so much. Please be real. I’m sorry that I am what I am, but please, please stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again I say: Aura = Avon Lady
> 
> neither are to be trusted


	23. Adeline Thinks Back On The Past and Fears The Future

The prison cell they had put Adeline in was a vast, empty space for someone who was only human-sized.

It would have fit two dragons, if the dragons did not mind being crowded. It gave Adeline ample room to pace, the only activity available to her at the present. She was not used to being idle for any significant length of time. Since she had come into Roderick’s care she had fewer worries and fewer stressful demands on her time, but taking care of William and dealing with Roderick’s playful antics still demanded her full attention. Not that she didn’t enjoy most of it. Unlike before, when a desire to please, born out of love, had been trampled on without mercy until the sound of armored footsteps approaching the door touched her heart with dread.

That dread had returned after she had been put in the cell. The shuffle of a dragon’s foot made her flinch until she recognized the inhuman scratch of claws and the familiar sweeping of their tail. It was only human footsteps she feared. Even the indignant stride of Marianne’s boots had filled her with fear.

When Adeline had run from Roland once upon a time she had known she was running into the territory of dragons. Beasts. Monsters. But in her mind they had only been the monsters of fairy tales and her fear of them came secondhand. The danger following behind her had been far greater than the supposed danger in front of her.

The shadow that had blocked out the sun and cast her into shadow had been a relief. What loomed above her was a straight forward monster. It would send fire rolling over her, pierce her with it’s claws, rip her apart with its fangs … and there would be an end. It would not expect Adeline to be grateful, or ashamed that she had troubled it.

The grass that Adeline collapsed on had been still warm from the sun, beneath the dragon’s shadow. The dragon itself radiated heat and she could smell fire. The clear blue sky had been blotted out with dark brown dragon, spotted with dizzying black spots growing over Adeline’s vision.

Now, in the cell, it was gray and dusty. Neither in darkness or sunlight, waiting for one or the other to appear and seal her fate. She was tiny, helpless, having no say in her own life. There was no strength in her. At lease she could entrust William to Marianne. Marianne had strength and no heed for her small size when confronted with monsters. Adeline was tossed and tumbled through life and badly battered for any attempt at resistance. Marianne strode through life on certain feet, slashing her way through opposition, scaling obstacles with unwavering determination.

Marianne had the strength to protect William. Adeline wished that she herself had that too. All she could do was depend on others.

She missed Roderick. His silliness made her smile after she thought all happiness had been cut out of her. She had smiled when she had first met him. Smiled at that shadow that promised an end. But instead of ripping his claws into her he had bunched herself up next to her, giving her an experimental nudge or two. The stump of his front leg, she had seen it while she was laying there in the grass. A nasty cris-crossing of half-healed scars and red lines of infection.

Adeline paused in her pacing and leaned against the wall, rubbing a fist over her shoulder and chest. The rough pucker of poorly treated wounds could be felt through her dress. She hadn’t been able to stitch herself up. It was half thankfulness toward Roderick, half frustration at her own uselessness, that compelled Adeline to tend to Roderick’s scars. _He_ certainly hadn’t been taking care of himself.

“I’m a nurse,” she told him, “Or, I was …”

“For dragons?” He asked, teasing.

“A difficult patient is a difficult patient, no matter the species.”

The audacity of her own words shocked Adeline and she hunched her shoulders, anticipating a rebuff. Roderick just chuckled and rolled onto his side like a cat getting comfortable. “I see how it is, Doctor Princess. Have at it, you can’t make it any worse than I already have.”

She doctored his stump and she doctored it again and again every time he went out and did something foolish and strained himself. She spoke not a single word of complaint until her worry and stress piled up so high that she had to give them voice or be crushed by them.

The baby–her pregnancy was well along and even Roderick would notice sooner than later. The pregnancy that had caused Roland to decided … to decide that Adeline was too much of a bother to keep … around. The baby had smashed her unstable illusions of happiness and sent her falling through a series of nightmares. Roderick still believed Adeline a princess, but what if he knew the truth? Was the tiny happiness she had built up with him … was that only as real as what she had with Roland?

“Stop hurting yourself!” She shouted, “I’m trying to help you! Why can’t you just take care of yourself?”

Then she curled into a ball on the floor, hugging her stomach and sobbing because everything was coming to an end.

Roderick shuffled around and crouched next to her so she was buffered by a wall of soft feathers. “So … are you going to be having an egg?”

The phrasing of the question was so absurd and unexpected that Adeline laughed wildly between sobs.

“Yeah, yeah, I know humans don’t have eggs. But I made you laugh, right?” He nuzzled the side of his head gently against Adeline’s hair, “Right? Right, my pretty princess?”

“I’m not even–”

“Not even a princess? I know. You told me you were a nurse when you were still sick and loopy. You told me later that you knew that stuff because your kingdom was poor, but in my experience royalty mentions rank first and never as an afterthought.”

“I forget sometimes … you’re sharper than you look.”

“I know, right?” Roderick said proudly.

She held onto a handful of feathers, gently, tethering herself to reality, “I can stay?”

“Like I would let you _leave_? I am far too selfish to allow that. You’re _my_ princess and that’s _that_.”

He had protected her. Given her and William a safe and cozy home. Now she repaid him with the disgrace of harboring a fake princess that had been accused to trying to poison a king.

She desperately wished to see Roderick smashing open the doors, come to whisk her back home to William and safety and peace.  She desperately wished there was enough power in her weak hands so that she might help herself.

But even when her foes had been merely human-sized they had been too large for Adeline to conquer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Whew. All written chapters transferred from tumblr. Thanks for reading this far. 
> 
> If you're a long time reader of my stories, sorry these aren't updates for my other fics. I'm a full time working, bipolar disaster who was just taking drabble prompts and accidentally started another monster-sized fanfic of usual setting. I'm devoting myself to finishing this story and then going back to my others.
> 
> Remember, I have no abandoned any of my stories! Thank you for your patience.


	24. In Which the Facts are Laid Out and Extreme Options Discussed

Curled up in his nest of pillows, Bog made his rounds.

Magic was as tightly woven into his kingdom as it was into the dragons. From the chambers of his cave he could reach out and tug on the strands of magic, following them all over the mountain, feeling out snarls and loose ends. His claws twitched to echo the mental process of plucking at the threads.

“Mm?” Marianne lifted her head. Her hair was puffed up in a red-brown halo. “Need somethin’?”

Bog turned one of his twitching claws to the purpose of giving Marianne’s face a delicate touch of reassurance. He did it without thinking. Even when he was full of suspicions towards her, Marianne somehow turned everything soft. She smiled a sleepy smile at his touch and settled back into her pillow.

Bog resumed following the strand, traveling through his kingdom on a brisk tour of inspection. There were a lot of tangles knotted up in the magic. The drain of wizards pulled the magic out of its weave and out of its shape. Here and there he could find traces of Aura, snarling up things by weaving in her own glittering strands of magic.

Nearby Bog found the bottle Aura had given Marianne. Unused magic was spooled up inside of it and in its dormant state Bog could not discern the purpose of it. The fact that it existed and was in Marianne’s possession was disheartening enough. If it turned out to be deadly poison or a noxious curse was irrelevant.

“ … got snickerdoodles in the oven …”Marianne murmured.

“Beg pardon?”

“Get out of the oven, Roderick …”

“Are you asleep?”

“Footprints on the gingerbread?”

Bog chuckled. “There are no footprints on the gingerbread, princess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you, handsome.”

Confused and flustered, Bog lost his place and had to backtrack in his inspection and begin again. Marianne seemed to have said her piece and fell into a deeper, quieter sleep.

What was he going to do about … well, about _her_? Bog scratched his neck gently, trying not to wake either Marianne or the baby. No, the question should be more along the lines of what was he going to do about how he felt toward her? It would be a straightforward matter if she was indeed a spy and assassin cleverly introduced into his life. He rather preferred that as the truth. He could dispose of her and all uncomfortable associated feelings as false and therefore unimportant.

Bog laid his chin back down on the pillows.To hope that the things he felt were genuine was frightening. If they were real he would have to do something about them. 

Fortunately, Bog reflected, there were official matters he had to think about first. Foremost was dealing with Spruce. If she could be proved guilty then that would automatically prove or disprove Marianne’s guilt. Take down Spruce and everything would fall out into the light. Or, perhaps, that was hopelessly optimistic thinking.

* * *

At the breakfast table Marianne wasn’t really seeing  the toast and eggs in front of her. The image of the potion bottle filled her mind’s eye and obstructed her regular vision as well. After a struggle with reluctance to dwell on the subject at all, Marianne had thought hard and narrowed the options she would conceivably allow herself to chose. Griselda’s harsh reprimands had their influence. Marianne had become a dragon’s princess to escape the restrictions of fairy tale endings. She would not let herself fall prey to the  shallow but glittering appeal. Fairy tale endings were, in their way, easier, but the shine of them always dulled quickly.

But, she reminded herself, endings that were not of the fairy tale variety … they were not necessarily bad endings.

Bringing in Bog’s breakfast and a crate of the paperwork accumulated during his illness, Marianne made herself look him in the face and insisted to herself that if her face was red that was simply from the difficulty of hefting the crate with the tray on top of it.

Bog was certainly no knight in shining armor. His scales were really very dull. She allowed herself a moment to look at him and try to imagine if things were … different. But nothing came to mind that was more appealing that what she could already see. There was a space in the world that was exactly Bog-shaped and sized and nothing else was suited to fill it except for him.

“What?” Bog asked, squirming under her concentration.

Marianne set down the crate and the tray. From the pocket of her apron she pulled the potion and sat it next to the tray. Bog’s eyes widened and he shifted away from the bottle.

“It was complete chance,” Marianne began, not really knowing where she was going, just that she was determined to get there, “Absolutely pure good luck that i ended up here, a dragon’s princess. I … I didn’t stay here planning to do anything but bake and organize books, I never meant …”

Never meant to fall in love.

“I’d never do anything to hurt you, Bog. Before anyone says otherwise, I want you to know that. And to know about this,” she gestured at the potion,” and–and everything else. Will you listen?”

Bog glared at the potion, bristling with suspicion. Marianne stepped away from it until it was impossible for her to reach it before Bog could stop her. He bared his teeth a little as he considered.

Slowly, he said, “I … will.”

Marianne nodded graciously. If he had just refused she wouldn’t have to cast around for the words to explain her feelings. She could try to just assure him that she was on his side, but to explain the potion a whole mess of tangled feelings needed to be dragged out and unraveled.

“Thank you.” She took a seat on a cushion and folded her hands in the best courtly manner. And she began. 

* * *

 

“In the end, this is all my fault.”

Bog had kept his mouth shut and his ears open while Marianne talked. With the intelligence and perception so characteristic of her she laid out all the information available to her concerning the assassination attempt and what conjectures she had made. 

More than once she paused, glancing at the potion bottle, seemingly on the point of addressing its existence. Each time she averted her eyes from the potion and picked up another topic.

Naturally, this made Bog uneasy. To snatch up the potion would be the work of a moment. To hurtle condemnation at Marianne only a moment more. That’s what he would usually do, a method satisfying in its simplicity. Roaring and knocking a few heads together tended to garner quick results.

There had been a small hope tucked in the back of his heart, that Marianne was not involved in the current crisis. He hadn’t been letting himself look at it, but he felt it keenly when Marianne admitted her guilt. Felt like someone had taken it by the corners and ripped it in two.

“You … admit it?” Smoke curled from between his teeth. It was harder than usual to kindle his anger. Likely because he was still not fully recovered. Certainly, he was very tired and would have liked to curl up and go back to sleep.

“I phrased that poorly,” Marianne replied, “though I can’t blame you for making assumptions.”

Bog thought that Marianne looked as if she _was_ offended by his assumption. Or, at least, hurt.

“I foisted myself on you and gave Roland an opening to stick his nose into your business. If I hadn’t been so intent on doing just what I wanted … You wouldn’t have been poisoned, Adeline would still be safe and happy–”

“What? And you would be happily married to that tin soldier?”

The idea of Marianne never coming took hold of something else in his heart and tore that too. That she would have never come to his cave, that she would be somewhere far away being miserable instead of being here and happy … Bog’s heart was starting to feel shredded.

“If …” Marianne wasn’t looking at him as she spoke, “If that was the price of keeping everyone safe I suppose … I suppose maybe …”

“You _couldn’t_.” He couldn’t stand the thought of it. She couldn’t. She was too strong, too smart, too …

“No,” Marianne’s voice trembled, “I couldn’t. Not … not Roland. I’m just too selfish …”

“You have too much self-respect. Now tell me about the potion.” He pointed a claw at the bottle. The last evidence of Marianne’s possibly betrayal that he could make himself believe true.

“Well,” Marianne rubbed a hand up and down one arm, “It isn’t a love potion.”

“Oh, well, praise be, I can sleep soundly at night.”

“Aura offered it to me because it would have, um, _helped_ with the dragonsbane poisoning.“

“But you didn’t use it?”

“The side effects are …”

“Are …?”

“Well, _extreme_ , you could say.”

Bog rested his head in front of Marianne so he could look more closely at her face. She was flustered and red. Suspicious behavior, but not in the way of a poisoner or assassin.

“Um,” Marianne fumbled on, “She gave it to me and–oh, it wasn’t something I asked for. I didn’t ask for it! I wasn’t going to use it–ah. Well. When you were very sick and I thought … I thought that it would be better than letting you … but it wasn’t my choice, I–”

“What would it have done?”

“Only–only a dragon can be killed with dragonsbane. It’s harmless to almost everything else.”

“ _What would it have done_?””

“It would have changed you into a human!”

Oh.

Yes, that would have solved the dragonsbane issue, certainly. It would have also taken Bog neatly off the throne with the mess and fuss that came with murdering a king. The magic that chose the king would not allow the selection of a human, his connection would be severed and he would have no further claim to being king of the dragons.

“I would rather you just kill me outright instead of leaving me to that slow end.” Bog snorted, turning around in his nest and curling his tail around so he could lay the tip over his nose.

“Which is why I didn’t give it to you!”

“You thought about it.”

Marianne was silent.

Bog supposed Marianne was not conspiring with Roland and Spruce after all. If she were he would be dead of poisoning. Even if she somehow accidentally had ended up caring for his friendship she would have fed him the potion and thought it a merciful choice.

“You had some other reason to make me drink that?”

“Yes.”

“What, then?”

“It’s … a very silly reason.”

Bog flicked his tail off his nose, “The only two answers I can scrounge up are that you wanted me out of the way or that you wanted to save me–if you could call it being saved. Neither looks particularly amusing from my end of things.”

“It was just … you would have been cured. You would have been _safe_.  You would have … you would have belonged in a world I could reach.”

Bog’s crest crept up and his eyes widened. “What?”

“But that wasn’t fair to you and–and it was a dragon that I fell in love with. I wouldn’t know what to do if you were suddenly human.”

Marianne’s word had the impact of a blow to the stomach, leaving Bog without words or air. Was this another trick? How could it be anything but a trick?

“I’m sorry,” Marianne said, her voice thick, “I turned out to be a silly princess after all.”

Marianne … _loved_ him? Loved _him_? If he took that potion he could walk away from all this, hand-in-hand with her? Suddenly the thought of being human didn’t seem such a cruel fate.

“But I can change!” Marianne continued, “I can stop being weak and useless and silly! The potion, Aura told me, it can work either way.”

“Either way?” Bog was still several yards behind in the conversation and struggling to match speed with Marianne. He was disoriented and didn’t try to stop her approaching the table and picking up the bottle.

“It can turn a dragon into a human,” Marianne popped the stopper out of the jar, “or a human into a dragon.”

She tipped back the bottle to let the contents fall over her.


	25. In Which Bog and Marianne Finally Get Around to Admitting Their Feelings

“ _Why_?”

Marianne was drowning in bright blue pools of Bog’s distressed eyes. Up until now she felt she could practically fall into his eyes, like tropical pools of water reflecting the clear sky. She could only blame such flowery comparisons on the influence of romance novels in her early life.

She had closed her eyes before she poured out the potion. She was sure that when she opened them again Bog’s eyes would no longer seem to enormous. He would be smaller. The whole would be be smaller. The space she had occupied would no longer fit. Marianne felt a shiver of fear when she wondered about her place in the world afterwards.

But when she cracked open her eyes she found that Bog had stubbornly remained the same size. Likewise, Marianne retained her relative size and felt no signs of growing larger or coming out in scales.

“Ah?” Marianne looked around for the potion. She felt rather flat after nerving herself up for nothing. The potion was found hanging delicately in Bog’s claws, the contents sloshing around but not escaping the bottle.

“Why–?” Marianne began to ask.

“ _Why_?” Bog thundered, “Why would you try to do this?!”

“I–” Marianne’s confusion closed up her throat. The reason why was obvious enough, she shouldn’t have to spell it out to Bog that she would be more use to him as a dragon. She could protect him. She could be near him and it would be right in a way it cold never be if she stayed a princess. “Wouldn’t it be better?”

Bog was seething with smoke and sparks. His claws were trembling with the effort of keeping the tiny bottle steady. “Better? _Better_? For what? For who?”

“For everyone! As a princess I’ve brought you nothing but trouble! It would be better if I were a dragon!” Marianne smacked his nose and stretched to see if she could grab the bottle.

Bog whisked it higher. “I don’t want you to be a dragon!”

“What? Why?” Marianne was half sprawled over his head, trying to find a way to climb up high enough to reach.

“You wouldn’t be happy!”

“What do you know?”

“You’d never be happy if you changed yourself just to suit someone else! I don’t want you to be a dragon because _you_ don’t want to be a dragon! You don’t need to change, you’re already strong. You’re perfect! I love _you_ , as you are!”

Marianne slid off of Bog’s head, dropping lightly onto the pillows. “Pardon me, but, did you …?”

“I … might have.”

“I see.”

Bog picked the stopper off the tray and put it back in the bottle. Marianne sat on the cushions and tried to remember how to blink.

“I … you. And … you, too?” She ventured to ask.

“… yes.”

“Wouldn’t it be better, then, if I were a dragon?”

“Wouldn’t it be better if I were a human?” Bog grumbled, looking away.

“But you would be unhappy. I wouldn’t want that.”

“I don’t want you to be unhappy either.”

Marianne paused to mull this over, pressing her hands to her burning hot face. Her own, human hands. Hands that knew how to hold a sword and wield a rolling pin. She couldn’t lie to herself and admit she wouldn’t have missed those things. But adjustments were to be expected in such a case.

“It would be easier. A princess and a dragon being in love … it isn’t Done.”

“Do–do you love me?” Bog asked, shoulders and wings hunched.

“Yes.” Marianne’s face burned even hotter.

“A-and I love you so–so it _is_ Done, now. Yes?”

Marianne recalled using a similar argument with her father when she was young. Her father had disregarded it. Now Marianne felt the impulse to do the same. The words her father said then were in the tip of her tongue: that isn’t how it works.

She squashed the words down. The Proper Way Of Doing Things had prickled at her her entire life and led her toward a broken heart more than once. She wasn’t going to let it ruin this moment, whatever might come after.

Bog still had his head turned away, chin on his folded forefeet, sending up whiffs of self-conscious smoke. Marianne picked her way across the pillows until she could reach out her hand and run it down the curve of Bog’s neck. He flinched. She pulled her hand away.

“I don’t understand, though,” Bog said, “why _me_? I doubt I’d be much to look at as a human, but at least I’d be the right shape to escort you to–to–parties or whatever you have.”

Marianne laughed. “I hate parties. Now I can cry off due to not having a suitable escort. Instead you can help me practice sword fighting with dragons, or taste test the jalapeño jelly recipe I want to try. Bog, I like–I _love_ exactly what we have right now.”

“ … I like it too.” 

Bog turned and gave her a hesitant nudge. Marianne hooked her arm around his horn and leaned over to kiss the ridge over his eye. A careful tip of Bog’s claw brushed the hair out of Marianne’s face. All embarrassment was gone for the moment and Marianne was sure that Bog was feeling the same giddy happiness that she was. He had a goofy grin on his face. She probably had one too.

Recent events came crashing back in on them in the form of Griselda.

“Son! Are you awake? Wake up!”

Bog and Marianne both jumped. The pillows shifted and Marianne fell between two of them. She had to fight her way back to the surface, her face red hot.

“Mom!” Bog snapped.

“Something’s happened!”

“What’s happened in the middle of the night that’s so urgent?” Bog shoved a pillow away and let Marianne use his foot as a ladder. Marianne had never disliked Griselda, but at that moment she was considering doing so.

“It’s Roderick! He’s been poisoned with dragonsbane!”


	26. In Which Not All Stories Are Created Equal

It was just like Roderick, Bog thought, to interrupt important matters by getting himself poisoned.

The news threw everything and everyone into chaos. Which was also just like Roderick to do. Bog was at least grateful for the distraction it caused. He felt very odd, and it wasn't just because of the linger effects of the dragonsbane. Usually his mother would have noticed and pounced, nudging and chiding until she extracted an answer that satisfied her. She pattered around the cave instead, speculating about the most recent turn of events and thinking out loud of how to take precautions against another poisoning.

This left Bog alone to examine his odd feelings in peace. At least, in spare moments stolen here and there while he dealt with the crisis. He didn't feel as annoyed as he would have expected to. Annoyance just slipped sideways, push away by the way his heart was floating around untethered in his chest.

He was allowed to love Marianne.

She loved him _back_.

Bog kept rolling the situation around in his head, looking for a snag. He failed to find any. For some reason that made him feel that he, like his heart, was floating about, ready to drift away in the slightest breath of wind. He was giddy with both delight and terror. A smile kept slipping onto his face when he let his guard down. The world was soft and pink and wonderful.

“But who would want to poison Roderick?” Marianne asked, puzzled. She had been seeing to the many visitors sweeping in and out and had managed to find the time to bake Bog a batch of habanero cheese muffins.

“Who _wouldn't_ want to?” Bog countered.

“Touché.”

“In all earnestness, though, I don't know. I'm sure Spruce would, if necessary, but the timing of this poisoning could clear you and Adeline. Neither of you had the opportunity.”

“It calls everything into question, doesn't it? But Spruce did poison _you_. Adeline confirmed that. So where does this leave . . . everything?”

“Hm.” Bog twitched his wings in a shrug. He was distracted, thinking about how he could be so happy to look at such a tiny person. His eye met Marianne's and he felt a jolt of happiness. It was unsettling. Not necessarily bad. Just unsettling. He coughed to clear his expression and the resulting smoke was a welcomed screen.

“None of the other dragons smoke as much as you do.” Marianne complained, opening the door to let the air clear.

The pinkness of the world dimmed. “The curse of mixed ancestry. Aquatic dragons like my mother don't breathe fire. Thanks to her side of the family I've always been more smoke than fire.” He'd never been much good for anything more than sparks.

“So you really are a wet blanket.”

“Don't be cranky just because your wee lungs can't handle a breath or two of smoke.”

Marianne retaliated by giving his scales a tap with her fist. From there they somehow or another ended up looking into each other's eyes in a dreamy sort of way for quite some time. When they snapped out of it they both hurried to look somewhere else and find something to be busy with. Marianne checked on Gwill, who was tucked, cradle and all, in an open desk drawer.

“I'm glad to see you so energetic,” Griselda said, poking her head into his study, “Just don't overdo. Princess, dear, shouldn't you better run along to bed yourself? Don't want to be getting underfoot in here all night.”

The remark hinted at a hidden significance that Bog could not discover. Once his mother had shuffled off down the tunnel Bog turned to look at Marianne. “Does she know something?”

“Yes and no,” Marianne said, “She—she thinks I'm a silly princess trifling with your affections. I don't she knows about—about us.”

Bog's heart knocked into his ribcage when Marianne said 'us'. He quickly turned his thoughts in another direction. “Humph. She's been looking for years to find someone to look in my direction.”

“Someone appropriate.”

“Only because she didn't think I'd find someone perfect.”

Bog was aghast at the words that had just tumbled out of his mouth. He tongue seemed to be coming as loose as his heart. He had forgotten what love could do to a dragon. And he had never known what mutual love did to a dragon. It seemed to aggravate the condition tenfold. His claws twitched, plucking on the strands of magic all around them. Once again he could find no magical excuse for his feelings. That was both reassuring and frightening.

Marianne was sitting on the edge of his desk, hugging her knees. She hid her face against her knees. But Bog thought he caught a smile on her face.

It would be necessary to tell his mother about everything. At some point. The world was too small and pink at the moment to allow him to look too closely at the future.

The matter of Spruce had to be looked at, however. Bog checked over the orders he had written up to command her caves searched and could not stop a grin from stretching his face until all his teeth were bared. For the purported sake of safety Bog had commanded that no one enter or leave the cave without his permission and he himself had selected the doctors send to treat Roderick. It would be quite the feat if Spruce was able to clear out any possible evidence under such conditions.

“Do you know if anyone's told Adeline what's happening?” Marianne asked, glancing over at his papers.

“Not officially. Shall I send you to see her in the morning? I might be able to get her out of that cell, pending the results of our inquiries, but I think she's safer there.”

“Considering that Roland wasn't with Spruce when you had them shut up? Agreed. But I'll bring Gwill to see her.”

“Alright. Take Stuff with you. And your sword.”

“The latter goes without saying. Now, I'm going to go warm up a few galleons of milk to help you sleep.”

“I'm busy.”

“You're poisoned. You're not allowed to be busy when you're poisoned.”

“Bossy wee thing.”

“It's not bossy if you're the one in charge.”

“Oh? In charge now, are we? Outrank the king of the dragons?”

“In extenuating circumstances the princess takes charge of things, seeing as the king of the dragons doesn't know how to take care of himself. Besides, you're looking off-color.” Marianne ran her hand down the side of his head, “You're losing more scales, too.”

“Stress.” His hide an the unfortunate tendency to decide that shedding would solve anything that happened to be wrong with him. The time just after he had become king he had gone around with shreds of loose skin hanging on him like someone had ripped him half apart.

“So you admit I'm right. You need rest.”

“I admit nothing.”

“You big stubborn log,” Marianne kissed the place she had been stroking. Bog dropped his pen. “I've got to see you settled in for the night before I can sleep. Otherwise I'll worry and I won't sleep at all.”

“Oh, fine. You've twisted my wing.”

A migraine was twinkling along the edges of his vision and Bog was glad to give in. There was just so much to do, so much to unsnarl. Nothing had really resolved. It was hard to think that the world was out of sorts when he was tipsy with happiness.

“Come on, wee one,” Bog pulled Gwill out of the drawer, cradle and all, “Tomorrow you get to visit someone who can meet your exacting standards.”

* * *

The sight of Gwill brought a smile to Adeline's strained face.

“How have you been, my little dragon?” Adeline kissed Gwill's head. He growled at her with delight. “What's going to become of you when you realize you haven't got fangs or claws?”

“I have a feeling he'll make do,” Marianne said, smiling. She shouldn't be smiling so much, consider Adeline's circumstances, but the slightest thing would bump her heart and her happiness would overflow again. She wanted to tell someone about how happy she was. It was a tragedy that she wouldn't be able to see Dawn for months. Dawn was the perfect person to gush with.

“How's Roderick?” Adeline asked.

Marianne pulled herself together with a stern reminder that she was supposed to be a _sensible_ princess. “Have you heard what happened?”

“Yes. How sick is he?”

“The doctors said he'll pull through.”

Adeline looked a little less strained and pale. She had Gwill balanced in the crook of her arm. Her other hand she had pressed in a fist to her shoulder, rubbing her knuckles back and forth on it. “Thank goodness. What _happened_?”

“I wish I knew. It wasn't Spruce. She's _furious_. Not in an artful way, either. She ripped a horn right off one of the investigating officials.”

Adeline hugged Gwill close. “I hope Roderick's getting taken care of properly. He'd never admit it, not for all the hoards in the mountain, but his health isn't very good. Not since he lost his leg. He just doesn't take care of himself! He's so _stupid_!”

“He is.” Marianne agreed. “Which was taken into consideration when the king arranged for the care of his dearest cousin. Bog personally selected the most practiced and skilled of doctors who would be willing to sit on Roderick when necessary.”

“I wish I could be there.”

“To sit on him?”

Adeline smiled a little. Gwill was babbling to her in a language only he understood. A lot of it involved waving his arms wide and leaning backward until he almost fell out of Adeline's arms. Marianne found this alarming. Adeline didn't pay much attention to it, deftly righting her son as necessary.

“I feel completely helpless, Marianne. I've been used to hurt you and the king. Roderick is sick and even if I were with him I wouldn't be any use at all.”

“None of this is your fault, Adeline.”

“I've—I've been used and thrown away so many times . . . I don't know if you can understand. You've got your kingdom, you sister, the king of the dragons thinks you're a marvel . . . there's so much for you to fall back on. I don't have anything. Even if I get out of here . . . what if something happens to Roderick? There's nothing for me and no one to protect William. I can't protect him or anyone or anything I'm _useless_!”

“You are not!”

“I'm not a princess, or a worthy goose girl, or a virtuous maiden, or _anything_. There aren't any stories for me to fit into. I'm just a dirty, scared little creature that's tried to pretend it had a story with a happy ending.”

“I don't fit into a story either! You don't need a story!”

“But, don't you see? You chose to step away from being a princess. You still have the option of being a proper princess—you get to decide. At least . . . at least foundling children of good character usually fare well. When—if your sister has to find a place for William . . . I have hope he'll be happy.”

Marianne had sobered up thoroughly but then. She wanted to shake Adeline for saying such horrible, dismal things. She wanted to hug her and tell her it was all going to turn out fine. But Adeline was not entirely incorrect on some points. Somewhere along the way the world had been set up to run in certain patterns. Anything that didn't follow those patterns were bent and broken until they did. And if they didn't they were discarded. Not because they weren't as real as anyone else, but because everyone was trained to pretend they couldn't see. Marianne was lucky. She had the advantages necessary to be able to push on the boundaries, toe the line, turn the unfair rules in her favor.

“I'm sorry,” Marianne did hug Adeline, “I'll do everything I can for you. I swear it. You three will be together again and you'll write whatever story you please. Roderick is good at that. Follow his lead.”

“That would lead right off the side of the mountain.” Adeline said with a watery laugh.

“Then take Gwill and go to my sister. She'd love you two as a lady-in-waiting and a page. You're not alone, understand? There's so much for you and you get your pick.”

Waving goodbye to Gwill, Adeline looked calmer, but Marianne wasn't sure her words had reached her. The huge door to the cell slid closed, narrowing Marianne's view of the pale, golden prisoner who was too small and gentle to be locked up in such a dark, empty room.


End file.
